


Percy Weasley Takes Over

by lazyiguana



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (gasp), F/F, Gen, Humor, Oliver "Ride or Die: Quidditch Edition" Wood, Percy Weasley breaks the rules
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-07
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-02-18 23:57:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22601926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazyiguana/pseuds/lazyiguana
Summary: Percy Weasley knew when to break the rules: when it suited him.
Relationships: Penelope Clearwater/Audrey, Percy Weasley & Oliver Wood
Comments: 19
Kudos: 128





	1. We meet our protagonist

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: not mine, etc. etc.

Percy Weasley knew when to break the rules.

He didn’t like to, because most rules were put in place for a bloody good reason, and also he didn’t like to get in trouble. It was an uncomfortable feeling.

But he was a Weasley. And that meant that if it came down to it, a little rule wasn’t going to slow him for long.

He knew that politics was his future. There were so many things that made him angry, that made him ache to fix them.

He knew how to play the long game. He was a pureblood, which gave him a large advantage, but he was also a Weasley, which meant if he wasn’t careful he would never go far. A lot of his classmates, especially the Slytherins, would become his coworkers and superiors (at first, that is; he had _ambitions_ ), so he had to start early. And that meant no mistakes.

“You are an asshole,” Oliver muttered as they made their way back to the Tower. “I can’t decide if I love it or hate it.”

One of the Ravenclaw upper years had called Oliver a derogatory name that made Percy’s clenched fists whiten just to remember it. They had tracked him down and made him eat his words. Literally.

McGonagall had shown up just in time to see Percy round the corner, see the unconscious ‘Claw and smug Oliver, and launch straight into a blistering lecture. When Oliver argued that the sixth year deserved it, Percy had a brilliant rebuttal of violence not being the answer and to let the system _do its job_. Gryffindor lost ten points and gained fifteen in the next five minutes, and the Ravenclaw was docked thirty and gained two weeks of detention. And Percy got off scot-free.

“You only just realized?” Percy asked, amused. Oliver was a good friend. And an excellent decoy. “You make it very easy.”

“Okay, I definitely hate it. Merlin, I can’t believe we got away with it. How’d you know she was there, anyway?”

“Undetectable proximity charms,” Percy waved away the question. “And I’m her favorite.” It was a privilege he happily abused when the occasion called for it.

“For some reason,” Oliver shook his head. “But hey, teach me that hex you used? It was bloody wicked.”

“You mean the one _you_ used?” Percy raised his eyebrow superciliously. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you’re implying. _I_ never raised a wand against the fellow.” Oliver sputtered, and he relented. “I’ll show you tonight, after dinner.”

Percy knew when to break the rules: when someone else was there to take the fall. He was a Weasley. He was also a little bit of an asshole.


	2. Percy picks some fights

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guess it's a multi-chapter now. Whoops.
> 
> Presenting the CAST:  
> Percy "Don't Mess With Me, My Family, My Friends, My Family's Friends, My Education, My..." Weasley  
> Oliver "I Could Be A Hitman But Only If It Doesn't Interfere With Quidditch" Wood  
> Penny "What's A Felony Between Friends" Clearwater  
> Audrey "My Friends Are Insane" Haywood  
> Ginny "Not Really Enjoying This Hogwarts Thing So Far" Weasley  
> Harry "Perpetually Followed By Tiny Rainclouds Of Angst (And Snakes)" Potter  
> Hermione "Tiny 'Mione Is Onto Your Shenanigans" Granger  
> Ron "Eat Slu-blaaaaarphlag" Weasley

Sixth year was a busy year for Percy. OWLs were over and the summer had been a last gasp of relief before the NEWT classes began. He was planning on taking as many NEWTs as he felt he could reasonably handle alongside his prefect (and eventually Head Boy, if all went to plan) duties, as well as beginning to feel out potential career routes into the Ministry now that he had the OWLs to back him up.

He wished a little grumpily though (and perhaps a smidge fondly, though he’d never tell) that Harry and Ron would have stopped their trouble at the flying car. The flying car. _Honestly_. They were _twelve_. But this whole Heir of Slytherin business was a whole other level of trouble. He was sure not even Fred and George could have made so much trouble so quickly if they had _tried_.

It had actually been a little funny at first. Tiny Harry Potter, some sort of mysterious serial killer? As if. He doubted the kid even knew about Salazar Slytherin- he wasn’t exactly into book learning like Hermione was. And again, he was _twelve_.

It had quickly grown less funny the more the other students bought into it.

He and Oliver had taken to shadowing—or outright escorting on occasion—Harry to class, and it was… worrying how many hostile stares and whispers Harry was subjected to by his peers. Fred and George helped too, after an offhand mention of how _uneasy and isolated Harry must be feeling right now, I wish I could help him feel better about it, he’s not been smiling at all_ , and they came through with flying colors.

Percy offered advice and classwork help when he could, and stood back to let Fred and George help Ron and Hermione coax Harry back out of his shell. Then he and Oliver hunted down those who really should have known better.

Two fifth year Ravenclaws found themselves only talking in unintelligible hisses for the rest of the week. The more Professor Flitwick tried to unravel the jinx, the longer their forked tongues grew until he stopped and advised them to wait it out until the jinx unraveled itself, which should take no more than three days. It took four.

A fourth year Slytherin received a lecture on bullying that nearly reduced her to tears. He felt a little bad about that so he told her how to get to the kitchens as an apology. The sixth year he had no compunction removing thirty points and hauling to Professor McGonagall’s office when he found the teenager setting a truly nasty trapdoor curse just down the corridor from the Fat Lady’s portrait.

A seventh year Hufflepuff came down with a nasty case of boils that put him in the Hospital Wing for several days. He was of age, so Percy didn’t feel guilty at all about making the boils as painful as possible, and then as soon as he was out of the Hospital Wing, sending him right back in with an unbearable itch in his nether regions and coughing up large centipedes (thank you, Ron). Percy wasn’t too fond of eighteen-year-olds that had no qualms trying to corner a twelve-year-old.

Oliver helped when he could, but had to drop back to mobilizing the Gryffindor Quidditch team after he gained three weeks of detention fighting a seventh year Gryffindor. Though he was still grinning when he reported to Percy later that evening that between him and McGonagall, who had not been impressed at infighting in her House and even less impressed by the reason _why_ , the other boy had learned his lesson and wouldn’t be bothering Harry again.

Percy was less impressed with his follow-up: "Hey Perce, since you're basically a mafia boss, does that make me your hitman? Should I start keeping a lookout for horse heads for you, Don Corleone?" Percy jinxed his pants three sizes too tight for that one.

The younger years they let be dealt with by their own prefects, taking points when necessary.

It was probably a good thing Harry was a pretty oblivious kid, though after the fourth incident Hermione seemed to be getting a little suspicious of the timing of the mysterious “afflictions” of unkind older students.

As the immediacy of Harry’s problems waned, Percy turned his focus to the main thorn in his side: Lockhart.

Percy could not care less about how brilliant the man’s books were (and having read them, he had to grudgingly admit they were fairly well-written), or how many awards he’d gotten for bloody _smiling_. Percy cared very much that the man was, to put it lightly, a blithering _idiot_ who barely taught anything of use to his students. Lockhart was jeopardizing the education of every student at Hogwarts, especially the sixth and seventh year NEWT students. And that, Percy would not tolerate.

Penny was all too glad to help out. She claimed that as a Ravenclaw she felt personally insulted by the man’s awful teaching and claims of greatness, though Percy suspected that she was more offended that her girlfriend was one of the ones who practically swooned when the man walked by (“Oh come on, Penny. You know I love you, but I’m bi, not blind!”) and was thrilled at the chance to get rid of the competition.

They had fun.

“If a good friend will help you move, and a best friend will help you move a body, where does that leave us?”

Percy thought it over. “…Really good friends?”

She hummed. “I’ll take it.”

He watched in satisfaction as the egotistical man’s wide smile grew more and more strained over the next couple of weeks and his robes became slightly more disheveled. The lessons got marginally better, too; not by a lot, but enough to show that Lockhart wasn’t _entirely_ the airhead he portrayed himself as. Perhaps a small handful of brain cells rather than the single lonely one Percy had assumed at the beginning.

They limped towards the end of the year. Study sessions were organized (and promptly ignored by most of the school not currently preparing for their NEWTs), and Percy sent a few letters to Ministry personnel in the International Magical Cooperation and the Magical Transportation departments to begin making connections. He didn’t even try the other departments; he had no interest in becoming involved in law enforcement or magical creature regulation (dealing with pixies and wizard felons sounded equally unappealing), Magical Accidents and Catastrophes would just shunt him down to his father’s office, and he wasn’t going to touch Magical Games and Sports with a thirty-foot pole. He tried to picture working in an office full of Oliver Woods, and grimly concluded it too horrific to imagine.

The only thing Percy found himself unable to handle himself was the Heir of Slytherin business. Not the Harry thing, but the actual person attacking the school. The nasty rumors about Harry had died out pretty quickly, especially once Hermione and Penny were petrified.

Audrey was inconsolable, and Percy often found himself sitting with her in her common room with Oliver, feeling absolutely helpless as she sobbed on their shoulders. They knew that Professors Sprout and Snape were in the process of creating a cure for the petrification (and if anything was going to get done, it would be by that duo), but it was entirely different to see your girlfriend lying frozen with a look of terror on her face every time they visited her in the hospital wing. Audrey had taken to updating her on the latest Hogwarts gossip on the off-chance that Penny could hear while in her pseudo-coma. For the first time in a long while, Percy found himself at a complete loss as to what to do next.

He didn’t like it.

Ron was… Ron. Shutting the world out when he was upset, as Harry started to look paler than ever.

Ginny… Percy tried, but the attacks must have really shaken her, because she was always wan and withdrawn, and had eventually taken to dodging him when he tried to cheer her up or engage her in conversation.

Eventually Ginny started to look a little better, until suddenly she was gone.

_Her skeleton will lie in the Chamber forever_.

It was as if the world had dropped underneath his feet. He could only gather up the twins and then send another student to find Ron because Fred and George wouldn’t let go of him. Sometimes he forgot that they were still only fourth years. He felt younger too, set adrift. _He didn’t know what to do_.

The professors called his parents, and while Percy sat with his brothers ( _where was Ron?_ ) and his mother for what could have been an eternity for all he knew, waiting for their father, Professor Snape walked in levitating Ginny, Ron, and Harry ahead of him.

A brief second of agony—they were so still, were they…—before the three children were set down in hospital beds hurriedly summoned over by Madam Pomfrey.

“Mostly exhaustion, the poor dears,” the school nurse proclaimed after several brisk diagnostics. “Miss Weasley has a small case of magical fatigue, and both Mister Weasley and Mister Potter have minor concussions and several scrapes. They just need a few potions and some rest and then they’ll be as good as new.”

Percy couldn’t describe the incredible, boneless relief he felt at her words, and he felt the twins sag against him as they no doubt experienced the same. Their mother was already up and fussing over the unconscious children, brushing their hair from their faces and clucking at their state.

An unpleasant thought surfaced amidst the tired happiness, and he turned to Professor Snape. “And the Heir?” He felt the twins freeze, gripping him tighter.

The man sneered, but was interrupted before he could answer.

“The Heir to Slytherin has been defeated,” Professor Dumbledore swept into the Hospital Wing, beaming at them all benevolently. “The culprit has been removed from Hogwarts post-haste, and we have set defenses in place so that he will be unable to enter the school again.”

Percy noticed that the headmaster had not specified that the Heir had been arrested. He narrowed his eyes, but was precluded from speaking his mind at the man when Professor Snape spoke next.

“Poppy, I came up to inform you that Pomona and I have finalized the petrification cure. We have a small batch ready—“ he pulled a flat leather pouch from a pocket and handed it to the nurse—“and should have the rest by the end of tomorrow.”

Audrey was going to be so happy, Percy thought, as Madam Pomfrey carefully took out several vials from the pouch and began bustling over to the curtained-off section where Penny and the other petrification victims were. He just knew she and Penny were going to be unbearably cute for a while after this, but he couldn’t bring himself to mind.

After the feast, he finally got his answers about the Heir.

Ginny had asked for him, and when he arrived, tearfully flung herself at him, apologizing all the while.

“It was Tom,” she whispered. “It was Tom. Harry said that he was V-V-Voldemort.” She sniffled, part misery and part fear and Percy bundled her up in his arms even tighter, dead silent at this new revelation. “He was so nice, and he was my- my _friend_ , and I was getting so tired, and I couldn’t remem-member what I was doing or where I was going, and-and I was just so afraid. And then everyone was getting petrified, and I was so scared that it was- that it was _me_ hurting people.”

Percy stroked her hair and crooned wordlessly at her until she fell back asleep, processing what he’d just learned.

It made sense, he supposed. It was of course utterly terrifying that the wizard who had been the source of his nightmares ever since Percy first learned of him—their mother still didn’t like to talk about her brothers much—had returned, but it made sense.

More so than his previous suspicions, at least. And really, what had he been supposed to think with Dumbledore’s vague words in the hospital wing, and at the feast where no student had been expelled, but Lockhart had vanished? The only silver lining he could find in this bombshell was that he hadn’t been unwittingly egging on the attacks in his vendetta against Lockhart.

But he would have to turn over this piece of information later. After the weeks of fear at Hogwarts, and with the current states of his younger siblings, his family needed him.

Maybe he could convince Fred and George to find Ginny a toilet seat. That might cheer them up. And Ron was going to need a new wand or he’d somehow end up vomiting slugs again at some point.

Penny was beyond thrilled that Lockhart was gone. “I was starting to think I’d have to resort to desperate means to get that man removed,” she confided to them one quiet afternoon as the four of them lounged by the lake, pants rolled up and toes dipping into the water.

Audrey rolled her eyes from where she was tucked into Penny’s side. “For the last time, Penny…”

Oliver elbowed Percy, “Better start digging out those horse heads, mate. Sounds like you’ve got some competition for mafia leader.”

Percy shoved him into the lake.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Almost called Professor Snape and Professor Sprout a power couple several times, lol  
> ...  
> ...  
> ...hmmmm...  
> ...  
> ...  
> ... nah.


	3. What, like it’s hard? Pt. I

Percy was really hoping this would not be a continuing trend. He had thought the Slytherin’s Heir thing had been awful, but Sirius Black? Really?

He felt like tearing his hair out when they met Harry at the Leaky Cauldron. Was no one supervising this child? There was a serial killer after him! Merlin’s _balls_!

“Seriously, the kid couldn’t have worse luck if he had a Grim following him around!” Oliver agreed when Percy broached the subject on the train back to Hogwarts. “Best Seeker I’ve ever seen— no offense to your brother, Percy— but the absolute strangest situations and some of the worst sports injuries in years!”

Percy pointed a narrow finger at Oliver. “Don’t even joke about the Grim. At this point I wouldn’t even be surprised.”

Audrey snorted. “He’s a kid with the weirdest luck, not the worst. And relax, Percy. You’ll be of no use to Harry if you worry yourself into an early grave. You’ve got enough grey hairs as it is.”

Percy’s hand flew to his hair protectively. “It’s a family trait! My dad was the same!”

“And the twins,” Penny chipped in merrily.

“And the twins,” Percy sighed. “Probably more from Ron and Ginny if I’m honest. The twins at least know how to get themselves out of the situations they land themselves in.”

“And that’s enough worrying for now,” Audrey said firmly. “This is our last year at Hogwarts and I am determined to enjoy it.”

“Oh, yes,” Oliver said, ticking off his fingers. “Getting absolutely sloshed on Firewhiskey, snogging Penny, make a few more enemies because you clearly don’t have enough petty grievances as it is, ace the NEWTs, more Firewhiskey, more Penny, apprentice for a Charms mastery, Penny… did I leave anything out?”

Audrey sniffed regally. “Only the part about finding a place with Penny.” They shared a besotted look. “And I do not intentionally ‘make enemies.’ They just… happen.”

Penny patted her shoulder. “It’s okay, Audrey. We accept you for who you are.”

Percy nodded solemnly. “A surprisingly petty person with an elephant’s memory for slights.”

Oliver picked up the conversation. “And we love you- and slightly fear you- for it.”

Audrey rolled her eyes. “Like you’re one to talk, Percy. Or should I bring up that time when Brighton spilled jam on your new shirt?”

Oliver perked up interestedly. “Oh, do tell.”

Percy quickly cut in, “Let’s not. In my defense, though, that was a brand new shirt and he stained it the first day I wore it.”

“Your mother is practically the queen of handy charmwork, Percy. You have no excuse for your reaction beyond being a petty petty person.”

“So what happened? What did he do?” Oliver pressed.

“Well,” Audrey said gleefully— Percy resentfully thought she was a little too excited to move the focus from herself to him— “Brighton was making an absolute ass of himself at breakfast as usual, peacocking for all the ladies who were definitely not interested in him—“

“Poor Landon,” Penny input. “He’s had the absolute worst crush on a git who won’t even look at him twice. Could do so much better than _Brighton_.”

“Oh, come off it, Penny,” Audrey said. “You can’t control that sort of thing. I fell for you, didn’t I?”

“I said sorry afterwards!”

“ _Anyway_ , Brighton was strutting around, completely missing Landon’s incredibly obvious pining, pretending that he had a job all lined up for him at the Ministry, because his ‘father is very important personnel in the Department of International Cooperation, didn’t you know,’” She adopted a posh accent, sneering snootily down at the three of them.

Percy snorted despite himself.

“So he was waving his arms around, you know, like he always does, when his—“ Audrey was cut off of her retelling by the train compartment plunging into complete darkness.

“What happened?” Oliver’s hushed whisper broke the silence.

“I don’t know, I’ve never heard of this happening before,” Penny answered, just as hushed.

“ _Lumos_.” Audrey’s pale face appeared, eerily highlighted by the light at her wandpoint.

Percy shivered and rubbed his suddenly goosefleshed arms. He heard a soft indistinct noise from the corridor and his hair at the nape of his neck stood on end. “What was that?”

“What was what?” Penny asked, turning to look at the door. As she spoke, a little cloud of vapor puffed from her mouth in the chill. She blinked at it surprised, before an expression of sheer terror passed over her face. “Lock the door, lock the door _lockthedoor_!” Her voice rose to a nearly inaudible pitch.

Audrey reacted immediately. “ _Colloportus!_ ” she shrieked. “ _Obfirmo! Sepioportus!_ ” She rattled off a few more complicated-sounding spells, some Percy thought sounded German or Greek, and some he couldn’t place the language at all.

There was a small _hiss_ as the door seemed to settle in place.

Audrey deflated with a heavy exhale, and immediately curled around Penny who was now sobbing indistinctly, and the others hurried to follow suit.

Penny was murmuring to herself, sniffling. As Percy wrapped his arms around the two girls, Oliver’s arms surrounding all three of them, he strained to make out the words.

“Hate them, hate them, hate them so much,” she was saying, over and over as she sobbed quietly. “Hate them, I hate them.”

Audrey shushed her gently, rubbing her back in calming circles.

Gradually Penny’s breathing slowed, with the occasional hitch.

“What was that? In the corridor?” Percy asked, concerned. He regretted his question immediately as Penny’s face, slowly beginning to color again, turned ashen.

“D-D-Dementors,” she said, and buried her face into Audrey’s shoulder.

Oliver pulled back. “Dementors?” He asked, aghast. “ _Here?_ But- but they’re supposed to be at Azkaban!”

Audrey began fretting, fingers slowly stroking through Penny’s hair as she worried. “What do we do? Why- why would they be here?”

“The only reason I can think of is that escaped prisoner, the Death Eater that broke out a couple of weeks ago,” Oliver said. “But that’s no reason for them to come onto the _train!_ He’s not going to be on the _train!_ Someone would have noticed!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Penny said, muffled in Audrey’s shirt. “They’ll go after anyone. S’why you need the Patronus with them all the time— they attack if you don’t keep them at bay.”

“That’s a NEWT-level spell,” Percy said disbelievingly. “And they’ve got no Aurors here, with these things, on a train full of _children_. The professors don’t even ride with us! Did they want it to arrive with a train full of corpses?!”

Beside him, Penny began to hyperventilate. Audrey shot him a dirty look as she helped Penny slow her breathing down again.

Percy winced. “Sorry.”

Madam Pomfrey was there when the train pulled into the Hogsmeade station, handing out chocolate and clucking over everyone. “Oh, you poor dears! Dementors, at Hogwarts! Why, if I could get my hands around that man’s skinny little neck…”

Percy never got to hear who exactly Madam Pomfrey was plotting to murder as he was whisked away by Professor McGonagall. “Mister Weasley, if you would please follow me. Miss Clearwater…” she noticed the state Penny was in and visibly softened, “Mister Weasley can update you on our discussion.”

Penny nodded, still clutching Audrey, but tear-tracked face clearly visible. “Yes, Professor.”

Percy dutifully trailed along behind the teacher as she strode towards the Three Broomsticks.

“A fireplace connected to the Floo network, if you please, Madam Rosmerta,” Professor McGonagall said. “And some Floo powder as well.”

Madam Rosmerta hurried over, snatching a jar from under the bar as she came. “What is it? Minerva? Is anything wrong?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips flattened into a thin white line. “I must speak with the Headmaster immediately. Someone let the Dementors into the train.”

Madam Rosmerta gasped, and Percy himself felt a little faint.

“Thank you very much, Rosmerta, but we must be going.” The professor plucked the jar from the bar owner’s hands, and took a pinch of the green powder before passing the jar to Percy. “The fireplace?”

Madam Rosmerta, one hand still covering her mouth, wordlessly gestured.

Professor McGonagall stepped up to the fireplace in a few long strides. She tossed her pinch of powder in, stepped into the hearth, said, “Hogwarts, Headmaster’s office!” and disappeared in a roar of emerald flame.

Percy hesitated.

Madam Rosmerta looked at him, and though she was still clearly shocked, managed to nudge him towards the fireplace. “Well, go on then. Can’t keep the Headmaster waiting.”

Percy swallowed, and stepped forward.

When he arrived in the office, coughing a bit at the soot, it was to an unexpected sight.

Professor McGonagall was standing next to an unusually somber-looking Dumbledore, seething. The tip of her wand was glowing, pressed to a piece of parchment in front of them. “Dementors! On the train! Cornelius, I barely understood why you stationed them around Hogwarts, but this is too far! It is only through sheer bloody luck that none of the students lost their souls! You can be sure I will be reporting the Aurors’ incompetence to the Board of Governors, and the Ministry’s failure in ensuring the safety of their children!”

Dumbledore sighed heavily, and leaned over the parchment. “The school’s wards remain strong as ever, Minister, and with the addition of the Dementors and Auror guards to the outside, its already formidable defenses are strengthened. Sirius Black will not enter Hogwarts.” His a voice firmed considerably. “I do believe, however, that my earlier words bear repeating once again: I will not permit Dementors to enter school grounds. This incident only too clearly shows that they must not be allowed near students in any sort of proximity, Cornelius, and I will not be swayed on this.”

He nodded at Professor McGonagall, who removed her wand and waved it over the parchment. It slowly bled red before Percy’s fascinated eyes. Dumbledore carefully folded the parchment and held it out. “To the Minister, if you please, Fawkes.”

The phoenix— Percy started, he hadn’t seen it there!— flew over and snatched it from the Headmaster’s hand. It chirped, a surprisingly musical sound, and vanished into flame.

Percy stared, open-mouthed. He hadn’t thought anyone could send a Howler to the Minister of Magic, but apparently it was just that easy.

“Ah, Mister Weasley,” Headmaster Dumbledore greeted.

Percy snapped his mouth closed. “Sir.”

“And Miss Clearwater?”

“Unwell,” Professor McGonagall said, clipped.

Though she didn’t offer any further explanation, the Headmaster seemed to understand. “Ah. Please convey my well-wishes to her then, Mister Weasley. A Dementor encounter is no small matter.”

“Yes, sir.” Percy wondered if the Headmaster knew he and Penny were close friends, or was merely referring to the fact that they would be sharing the Head dorms this year. “Is this about our Head duties?”

“Indeed.” Dumbledore sank back in his chair and gestured for him to take a seat.

Percy gingerly sat. Professor McGonagall took the other chair in front of the desk, and moved it to the side so that they were in a sort of triangle, with the large desk in the middle.

“Normally the information packet we sent over the summer would be sufficient in providing all information you may need to carry out your duties this year, but, as you have seen, circumstances have changed.”

“The Dementors.”

“Yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “And Sirius Black.”

“So it’s true?” Percy asked. “You think he’s going to go after Harry?”

The two adults exchanged a glance.

“We think it very likely,” Dumbledore said. “As does the Ministry, hence the Dementors.”

Percy hesitated. “The Dementors… Penny said they would attack anyone, not just convicts. What… why are things like that here? Wouldn’t the wards be enough?”

“Well, yes,” said Professor McGonagall. “If he were anyone but the first person to break out of the most well-guarded Wizarding prison— even now no one has any idea how he did so— and somebody with a… personal connection to Harry.”

“Personal connection?” Percy knit his brows. Usually that implied positive things, but in relation to why a murderous escapee would be after Harry…

Headmaster Dumbledore leaned forward, eyes intent. “We ask that none of this information leaves this room. Miss Clearwater of course will also need to know, but I hope you will impress upon her the seriousness of the situation if this information were to spread before Harry may be ready.”

“Before Harry may be ready?” Percy parroted, even more confused now. What was going on?

“Sirius Black,” Professor McGonagall stated with a strangely sorrowful expression, “was the best friend of James Potter, and they were closer than brothers. As such, when the Potters went into hiding, they entrusted their greatest secret, the protection of the Fidelius, to him. And… their greatest treasure. Black was Harry’s godfather, but betrayed them all to Voldemort.”

…Oh.

.

“What was the meeting about?” Oliver asked as soon as Percy entered the Head dorm commons area, well after dinner had ended.

He was sitting in one of the armchairs around the small fireplace, burning merrily and casting warm shadows throughout the room. Audrey was sitting on the loveseat, Penny curled against her. She smiled when Percy looked over to them. “She’s fine now, just tired.”

Percy sagged into the remaining armchair, suddenly wishing he could just sleep the year away. He put his head in his hands.

Oliver immediately straightened, concern clear on his face. He leaned forward. “Perce?”

“You’d better wake her up for this.”

.

“Okay, that’s enough,” Audrey said, hands on her hips. Behind her, Oliver hovered, in his Quidditch practice gear and clutching his broom anxiously.

Percy squinted up at her. Beside him, Audrey looked just as bleary, hunched over a sheaf of parchment covered in both their cramped writing.

“You’ve done all you can. So this man can escape a highly warded prison and knows more secret passages through Hogwarts than the Headmaster. You’ve doubled patrols, warned the prefects without causing a panic, created a messaging and alert system for those patrols, and come up with some incredibly nasty surprises should the man actually manage to enter the castle. On top of that, the Headmaster has added additional ward layers to the system, and the teachers are patrolling as well, one of whom is also one of Black’s ex-best friends and knows the secret passages just as well. Now stop. I’m not telling you to stop worrying entirely,” she added, seeing their faces, “I know that’s not possible for you. The students are your responsibility, I know. But it’s not your burden alone. You’ve done everything you can, so sit back, rest.”

She gestured at Oliver. “You’re making us worry. He’s late for _Quidditch practice_ because he’s too busy worrying over you two.” Oliver managed to look sheepish but entirely unapologetic.

Percy and Penny looked at each other guiltily.

“We’re really sorry, Auds,” Penny said for the both of them. “But we want to do this right.”

“You’ll be of no use to anyone exhausted,” Audrey said brutally. “Go to bed. And I don’t want to see you working on this for the rest of the week.”

The two started protesting, but Audrey cut across them with practiced precision. “Bed. Now.”

They abashedly began to gather up their materials and head towards their respective bedrooms. As Percy passed, he said lowly, “I’m sorry, Ollie.”

He sighed. “It’s okay, Perce. Just don’t do it again, please. I don’t think I could take the stress.”

.

“Okay, what are you planning?” Oliver asked as he sat down next to Percy.

Percy passed him the breakfast sausage. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said airily.

Oliver snorted. “Well now I _know_ you’re planning something. We go through this same exact song and dance every time, have been since first year. So. What’s up?”

Percy glanced around, then leaned in. “I’ve been sending out letters of interest to several departments in the Ministry,” he hissed, smiling benignly at a fifth year until they turned away again.

“Yeah I know,” Oliver said impatiently. “I proofread them for you, and practically held your hand when you nearly imploded from the stress.”

“Yes, but I’ve gotten some replies back,” he clarified, glaring down the table at Gregory Brighton.

Oliver followed his gaze but saw nothing beyond the usual peacocking at the breakfast table. “That’s great though, right? You’ve been waiting for them for ages. So what’s the problem? They can’t all have been rejections. You’re the top student in our year!”

“No, they were all positive. I’ve got to write back a few of them to send an official letter of interest, set up an interview, that sort of thing.” He finally pulled his eyes from Brighton to look at Oliver, smiling. “I have an invitation for an interview in the Department of International Cooperation, in the International Policy Office.”

“That’s awesome! Congratulations, Perce! That’s your top pick, right? And it sounds like they really like you too!”

Percy beamed. “Yeah, I sure hope so.” His face turned dark again, and he stabbed at his potatoes. Oliver noticed that they were already looking a little mangled.

“…that is great, right?” Oliver asked hesitantly. “I know you were really hoping for this chance.”

Another dark expression was sent down the table. “It’s the same job Brighton’s dad promised him.”

“…Ah.” Oliver sat back a moment. “I see how that could make things a bit more difficult. Nepotism, huh?” He leaned forward, grinning like a shark. “So what are you planning to do about it. It’s not like you to just give up like that.”

Percy sighed. “It’s not quite that simple. Everything has to be completely aboveboard. I’m serious Oliver, I can’t risk it this time.” He paused. “But if I present myself as the perfect candidate in every way, I think I can pull ahead. They can’t be seen to _blatantly_ condone that sort of favoritism, after all.”

Oliver nodded, catching on. “But that means Brighton has to completely botch it.”

“Enough for him to no longer be a candidate worth considering, yes.”

“Well okay, we can just shake him up a bit—“

Percy pointed his fork at Oliver. “Above. Board. That means no weird mafia things from _The Godfather_. I’m still trying to live down that time you decided to talk like a bulldog chewing taffy.”

“It’s a great movie!” Oliver objected. “But that’s beside the point. So what were you thinking if you need to keep it ‘above-board’? Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your plotting face earlier.”

“It’s not a _plotting face_.”

“Avoiding the question,” he sing-songed back.

“…I actually don’t really have much. Believe it or not, between the Ministry’s saving-face and blatant corruption doesn’t leave me much wiggle-room.”

“Think of it as practice for when you start your career,” Oliver said encouragingly.

Percy rolled his eyes at him again. “But, just yesterday afternoon Grace was telling Rabe that Landon told her he’s been considering confessing his feelings to Brighton.”

Oliver choked on his eggs.

Percy whacked him on the back a few times before Oliver spat his half-digested scramble back onto his plate, still wheezing.

“That’s gross, mate.”

“Oh, sod off,” Oliver said automatically. “Wait, really? He’s been pining for what, three, four years now?”

Percy shrugged one shoulder. “Seems so. Lucky break for me, hopefully.”

Oliver squinted at him. “How do you figure?”

“We-ell, if we offer to help Landon, when he confronts Brighton might just be right before Brighton has to leave for his interview…”

“And he’ll be so thrown by this completely obvious thing that he’s missed right in front of his face, that he’ll entirely forget to act suave or whatever and flub the entire interview with his shining personality,” Oliver finished with great relish.

It was Percy’s turn to squint. “And I thought _I_ was the one with the grudge,” he remarked. “What’s with you?”

“What’s with _you_?” Oliver shot back. “Wait, no. That didn’t work. Just pisses me off on a personal level, I guess.”

“Okay,” Percy said slowly.

“Don’t forget, we need to add that if Landon doesn’t get a polite reply, we can smash Brighton’s face in for him. We definitely should let Landon know that we’ve got his back,” Oliver added happily, cracking his knuckles.

Percy crooked a smile. “As soon as I ace the interview and land the position, above-board’s out the window,” he promised.


	4. What, like it’s hard? Pt. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You’d think quarantine would increase my writing productivity, but the only thing I’m “pro” at right now is procrastinating.
> 
> There’s a lot more of Harry in this one, and Percy finds this very stressful.

Percy walked into the Head common room, sat down, and dramatically dropped his forehead onto the table. “I’ve made a terrible mistake.”

“Okay?” Penny’s voice floated over, audibly amused.

Percy sighed into the oak grain. “Harry was disappointed about missing out on Hogsmeade— didn’t get his guardian’s signature— so I tried to cheer him up by saying he wasn’t missing much. Only, I think I accidentally made him feel even worse.”

“How did you even manage that?”

“Well, I ended up talking myself in circles, and told him that Honeydukes was good, he ought to visit the Shrieking Shack sometime, and that Zonkos was actually pretty dangerous. I should’ve known better than that honestly, since that word is basically catnip for _all_ of my brothers.”

Penny snorted. “Nice.”

Percy ignored her proffered high-five with wounded dignity.

Not ten hours later, Percy met Penny’s eyes again from across the Great Hall. They shared a long look before turning back to their charges.

The hall was eerily dark and still, the occasional candle floating around the edge of the ceiling where the stars met the walls, under the cloudy moon.

It was incredible sometimes, how quickly things could change. If there was one thing his last three years at Hogwarts had taught him, it was to not take peace for granted. Not, perhaps, a lesson his parents and professors would have wanted him to learn, but… well. Percy shivered and drew his robes tighter.

A rustle at his feet drew his attention downwards. A small face peered back up at him, bundled up in the sleeping bag every student had been provided with. She looked tiny, a little caterpillar cocooned up in dark blue. Another small caterpillar curled against her side, face buried from view.

He gave her a smile and an acknowledging nod, trying to project a confidence and reassurance he didn’t feel.

She nodded solemnly in return, tucking back into her sleeping bag, face disappearing into shadow.

Percy moved on.

Three Hufflepuff fourth years were whispering to each other. “I heard he killed thirty Muggles with a single spell,” one hissed, pale in the flickering candlelight. “Just one spell, and _boom_! Took out five of the Aurors that came to arrest him before they could bring him down.”

“I heard the Dementors drove him crazy,” the second whispered back. “He’s a Black through and through. They both laugh when the Dementors go by, my cousin says.”

The first had opened their mouth to reply, when Percy swept over them.

He felt very much like Professor Snape in the moment, looming over them. “Quiet,” he said in a soft hiss, feeling perhaps a smidge vindicated to see them jump in fright. “It’s light’s out, go to sleep. You can talk in the morning.”

A raised eyebrow quelled their protests before the words could leave their mouths. He swept off to confiscate a… _something_ from Fred and George. He wasn’t quite sure what it was, but they had been giggling a little too much over it, so he sent it back to their dorm to be giggled over the next day instead, rolling his eyes at their exaggerated moues of dismay. Lee at least was pretending to be asleep, the enabler.

When Dumbledore finally came into the hall well into the early morning, Professor McGonagall having just left for her patrol of the castle with Professor Vector, Percy hurried over. “Headmaster!” he whispered. “Has there been any news?”

Dumbledore said quietly, peering around at the sleeping students— or faking sleep, as one some distance away was snoring much too loudly to be wholly believable— “We have reason to believe he has left the castle. Professor Lupin and Professor Flitwick are attempting to track him at the moment to confirm his departure.” He paused, then added with a poorly-hidden smile, “Filius asked me to pass along his compliments to you, Miss Clearwater, and Miss Haywood for the clever charmwork on the sixth floor. He thought the intent-based traps were rather inspired.”

Percy was glad for the dark of the hall masking his flush at the compliment. He coughed lightly and hastily changed the subject. “So are we to carry on tomorrow and have classes as usual on Monday then?”

Dumbledore’s spectacles twinkled in the faint starlight from the ceiling. “Indeed. We shall continue our classes and patrols as usual, and retire to our own beds in the evening.” He tilted his head back towards Percy. “I am aware we are asking a lot of our Head Boy and Girl this year, and I am afraid we must continue to ask more. But, Mr. Weasley,” he said gravely, “Hogwarts is grateful for your assistance.”

Percy swallowed the lump in his throat. “Just doing my duty, sir,” he managed.

“And that is all we can ask for, Mr. Weasley,” Dumbledore said. “Now, I believe it is well after midnight and it is best you and Miss Clearwater get some rest before morning. I and Professor Snape will guard the hall the remainder of the night.” The headmaster conjured two more plush sleeping bags with a flick of his wand and handed them to Percy.

“Yes, sir,” Percy said. He could feel himself sagging almost immediately, the exhaustion of the day catching up to him now that he was no longer required to remain alert and wary. He stifled a yawn and went to find Penny.

.

“Wood.”

Percy and Oliver looked up from where they had been huddled over their Potions notes, dinner pushed to the side, to see Flint looming over them.

“What do you want, Flint?” Oliver scowled.

The Slytherin raised an eyebrow. “I’m just here to let you know you’ll be playing Hufflepuff on Saturday. Slytherin had to substitute out because of our Seeker’s injury.”

They all looked over to the Slytherin table. Malfoy was using his poorly bandaged arm just fine, laughing loudly at something one of his housemates said as he forked potatoes onto his plate.

Flint gave an unpleasant smile. “I’m sure you understand.”

He sauntered off as Oliver spluttered.

“He gave us two days to prepare! Less than two days!”

“How much do you want to bet he waited until the last possible moment to tell you?” Percy said dryly. He sighed and began scooping up his books and scattered parchment.

Oliver jerked from the table. “I gotta— we have to—!” He flung himself over to where Alicia and Angelina sat further down the table.

“Why’s he so worried about it? It’s just a game, innit?” one of Ron’s friends asked from a few seats over. Something Finnegan Percy thought his name was, the one that kept setting things on fire.

“Yeah, but Wood’s going professional, isn’t he?” Finnegan’s friend, Dean, said to Percy. “So he’s got to do well for the scouts.”

Percy paused in straightening his notes to fully face them. “Yes, that’s right. The school only has six Quidditch matches each year— each team only plays three times— so it’s important to perform well for every match for the last two or three years, to make a name for yourself to the team scouts that come to the matches. Only it’s a little different for this year, since Quidditch was cancelled last year.”

“So the pressure’s on?” Finnegan said. “I didn’t know Gryffindor only played three times a year! Seems like there should be more matches or something, right?”

Dean bumped his shoulder. “Where’ve you been, mate? It’s always been that way.”

Finnegan rubbed the back of his head. Percy noticed he had a bit of soot on the side of his face and silently hoped that whatever he’d singed this time happened outside of Gryffindor Tower and was therefore outside of Percy’s purview. “I just figured I missed ‘em, in detention for blowing up Transfiguration or Charms or Potions again.”

Percy’s mouth quirked in amusement. “No professor assigns detention during Quidditch, especially not Professor McGonagall or Professor Snape. Not when their House is playing, anyway. But it would certainly be less stressful on all of us if there were a few more matches every year so that they weren’t so individually crucial for anyone who intends to play professionally.”

At their confused expressions, he pointed down the table to where Oliver was practically bodily hauling a surprised-looking Harry out of his seat, the rest of the Gryffindor team already darting out of the hall.

Dean winced. “It’s supposed to storm all week, too.”

.

“Ollie?” Percy called out, stepping into the locker room. After that disaster of a match, he knew Oliver would still be here. “Oliver?”

“I’m here, Perce,” his friend’s tired voice floated over from beyond the lockers.

Percy rounded the corner to see his friend slumped over on a shower bench, still in a towel and dripping. He sat next to him, ignoring how the puddle immediately soaked through his robe and trousers, and waited.

Oliver sighed. “I’d really hoped…” He trailed off.

Percy didn’t move, looking at Oliver out of the corner of his eye.

“Well,” Oliver said self-deprecatingly. He didn’t seem to know what else to say.

Percy leaned his shoulder into Oliver’s comfortingly. “You couldn’t have planned for Dementors. Nobody could have. It was entirely out of your control, and the scouts know that. They’ll understand.”

“Yeah,” Oliver said dully. He stared at his hands. “How’s Harry?”

“Harry’s fine. Madam Pomfrey’s keeping him asleep right now since the poor kid looks exhausted, but he’ll be up and causing trouble again by evening, I’m sure.” Percy rolled his eyes.

Oliver’s lip twitched. “He’s a good kid.” His shoulders slumped again and he seemed to fold in on himself. “The scout for United was here today. The Wasps, too. I saw them.” The misery was clear in his voice.

Percy didn’t really know what to say to make him feel better. Sorry a completely unpredictable and dangerous entity ended the match in complete chaos before you could prove your skills to the two teams you wanted to impress the most? Sorry that the scouts tend to only watch one game and that your best chance at playing professionally was now gone? “I’m sorry,” he said quietly.

“Just… what do I do now?” Oliver said, hands clenching and unclenching. “We were prepared for Hufflepuff, but only barely, and it didn’t even matter. We’ve only got two games left, and I… If something like this happens again…”

Percy put his hand on Oliver’s shoulder, and when Oliver leaned into it, wrapped his arm fully around him. “I don’t know,” he said quietly. “We’ll think of something, Ollie. But…” he sighed. “I’m sorry,” he said again. It didn’t seem nearly enough.

They sat like that for a long time.

.

“Wait, how did you get 5 days? I got 8 for this question.” Percy scratched the side of his head with the end of his quill, staring at the two homework answer sheets. They were mercifully similar, except for two entries towards the end.

Audrey slid her scratch parchment over, pointing out an equation nearly swamped by other equally-messily drawn equations and diagrams. “Since these two terms balance each other in meaning according to the Agrippa theorem, we can add a four here, and a four here. And with _that_ four in place, we can now expand everything in this bracket, and simplify from there.”

“What about the Wenlock sequence? I thought that if you had an odd number whose digits simplified to seven in the main script sequence, you could apply it to a dual derivation and then multiply by seven to amplify the effect of the character value in place of the nine.”

“Well,” Audrey said thoughtfully, “that could work too, but you would have to add a Syriac derivative to account for the extra Chaldean system integration.”

“Oh,” Percy said, scribbling out his own neatly written equation. “That makes sense.” Arithmancy was more complicated than he often thought it had a right to be, and this assignment was hardly convincing him otherwise. He scooted his armchair back from the table to grab his copy of _Numerology_ from the end table behind him.

The door behind them burst open, smacking into the wall with a bang.

“Ravenclaw destroyed Hufflepuff!” Oliver called out excitedly as he bounded through the doorway, Penny similarly flushed and cheerful half a step behind him. “ _Flattened_ them! 280 – 40!”

“Hufflepuff didn’t stand a chance,” Penny crowed. “They got a few good shots in, but we _swept_ them! Chang stole the snitch right out from under Diggory’s nose, and we were already a hundred points up!”

She bounced over to catch Audrey up in a breathless kiss.

Percy rolled his eyes at them fondly. “Where does that put Gryffindor, then?” he asked, knowing that Oliver wouldn’t be quite so excited otherwise. Excited to see a great game, yes, but not the bordering on manic expression before him now.

“We’re only just behind Hufflepuff! And since Hufflepuff has already had their second game, we’re guaranteed to pull ahead! As long as we do well against Ravenclaw and Slytherin, we’ve got one hell of a shot!” Oliver waved his arms.

Percy couldn’t help but beam back. “That’s great!”

Audrey and Penny finally disengaged, and Penny flopped down to sit at Audrey’s feet. “Don’t worry, we’ll give you both the play-by-play,” she said teasingly. “Every second of it.”

Percy laughed. “I’m sure. Now get the hell out, we’ve got a test Monday to finish studying for.”

Oliver shot him a mock salute. “Sir, yes sir. Come on, Penny, let’s leave these number nerds to it. I want to get a snack from the kitchens before I go hunt down the rest of the team for a strategy meeting.”

Penny flopped dramatically to the ground and rolled back towards the door when Audrey playfully kicked at her. “Fine, but we’re getting hot chocolate too. It’s cold out there.” She hauled herself to her feet with a groan. “And your team’s gonna hate you for dragging them around on a Saturday.”

“It’ll only be two hours,” Oliver said cheerfully as they left, Percy catching the last few words as the door swung shut behind them. “We’re gonna win the Cup if it kills us.”

Percy sighed and buried his face in his arms on the table. “You’ve bloody jinxed us, Oliver,” he moaned. “We’re in for it now.”

After Audrey’s unapologetic snickers trailed off, he propped himself up on his elbow. “So did you understand what Professor Vector was saying at the end of class about applying differentials to luck probabilities of potions? Because I don’t understand what that has to do with what we’ve been going over now…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter: NEWTs, job interviews, and escaped convicts, oh my! Percy’s not had much time to be petty, what with Black and increased course load, but don’t worry, he’s not forgotten (he never forgets).
> 
> I firmly believe that Arithmancy is a hellish combination of magic and calculus, used to determine probabilities for everything from spell- and potion-crafting to divination. Needless to say, it is a deeply unpopular class in a society that does not hold great value in mathematical skills.


	5. What, like it’s hard? Pt. III

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More Quidditch? Sure, why not.

“It’s not my fault I get cold easily,” Penny pouted at him.

Percy mock-frowned back. “So why my scarf? Why can’t you steal Audrey’s?”

Penny puffed up, scandalized. “She gets cold too! I can’t ask that of her!” She deflated. “And I lost her last one so I’m not allowed to take her scarf or gloves anymore.”

They continued playfully bickering down to the Great Hall, which was buzzing with excitement only Quidditch could bring so early on a Saturday morning.

Oliver was at the end of the table with the rest of the Gryffindor team, frantically mapping out last-minute plays and shoving extra food onto Harry’s plate, who was looking more and more beleaguered as eggs and potatoes began to pile up dangerously high.

“Oh!” Penny said suddenly, veering towards the group. “Potter’s got his Firebolt with him!”

Percy trailed behind, nudging Oliver as Penny gushed over Harry’s new broom. “Good luck, mate. Not that you’ll need it.”

Fred and George grinned up at him from across the table. “Don’t worry, Perce. We’ll keep him in line.”

“Breakfast before the game.”

“Finish the pep talk.”

“Tell him he doesn’t need to plan for a dragon incursion.”

“Keep him from killing Flint in front of the entire school.”

Percy leaned over to fondly muss their hair, casually strolling over to Harry with his hands in his pockets as Fred and George sputtered in indignation.

“Careful, Harry,” he said cheerfully, “sabotage is practically a given in Quidditch games. Keep a close eye on Penny, she’s a crafty one.”

Penny rolled her eyes at him as she handed the Firebolt back to Harry. “Please. We don’t need sabotage. Ravenclaw will win fair and square, even if Potter’s got the best broom on the market.”

“Well you can’t blame me for making sure. We’ve got a beg going on, you see,” Percy explained to Harry. “Ten Galleons to the winner, and I’m feeling pretty confident in my chances.”

“Psh.” Penny was about to say more, but caught sight of Audrey entering the hall. She drifted after her girlfriend, abandoning the conversation entirely.

Percy took the opportunity to lean in, carefully out of Oliver’s hearing, “Make sure you win, Harry. I haven’t _got_ ten Galleons.” He widened his eyes for effect. If he couldn’t pay, Penny would demand a dare, and he wasn’t going through _that_ again. Sure, the last one had ended up with Penny and Audrey together, but it hadn’t been pretty for anybody involved. It’d been pretty terrible for him, actually.

Speaking of. He straightened and strode after Penny. “Hey,” he said when he had caught up to them. “Where are we sitting?”

While the seating in the stands had no official House assignments, the four Houses often sat with Gryffindor and Slytherin at opposite ends and Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw respectively between. While mingling was relatively common, it wasn’t always a comfortable experience to be sitting with one House while supporting the opposing team.

Penny could not care less. “I’ll sit with you guys in the Gryffindor section. But we should sit next to the Hufflepuffs, I need the plausible deniability.” She waved her wand over her— Percy’s— scarf, changing the bright red and gold to a blue and bronze.

Percy pointed at her. “I better be getting that back.”

“Pish posh tish tosh.” Penny airily waved her hand and turned to collect a breakfast sandwich from the nearest table.

“That’s not an answer!” Percy huffed. “And nobody talks like that anyway!” He grabbed two bacon sandwiches, shoving one into his robe pocket and taking a large bite out of the other. He ignored the younger year Hufflepuff to his right who was clearly trying to figure out if they were allowed to do that. The kid would figure it out: this was one of the few rules everybody flouted.

They hustled out to the quidditch pitch ahead of the crowds to secure a spot at the front.

Percy breathed a cloud of warm vapor in the chilly spring air, and pulled his knit hat farther down on his head.

“You know,” Audrey said thoughtfully, peering over the railing. “I once asked Professor Flitwick what charms were used to keep students from falling off the stands, and I never got a straight answer from him.”

Percy cast a dubious look at the railing. “I’m sure there’s _something_. Someone’s got to have nearly fallen off it before.”

“Well maybe— hey!”

Percy turned to see a rather smug-looking Penny wrapping a Gryffindor scarf over her blue and bronze— still Percy’s— scarf.

“I’ll freeze without my scarf!” Audrey protested. “At least share it!”

Penny unwrapped one end and rewrapped it around Audrey until they were huddled and literally tied together.

“How are you not strangling each other when you move?” Percy asked, trying not to laugh.

Audrey gave him a dry look. “It’s a work in progress.”

The pair received a few amused looks as the stands began to fill up, two Hufflepuffs even copying them a few rows behind.

“The game’s starting!” Penny said, smacking their arms. Percy pointedly moved to the other side of Audrey and sat down again.

As expected, the game was close and exciting.

As usual, Percy, who wasn’t much into Quidditch but often found himself swept away by the crowd’s excitement, was kept endlessly entertained by Lee’s commentary of the match. It kept his nerves off the prospect of his two younger brothers and Oliver being deliberately targeted by what were essentially homicidal flying iron _rocks_. And he always learned a little bit of trivia, whether that was the latest piece of gossip about one of the players or how short of a fuse Professor McGonagall could have after an endless plethora of cat jokes. Today, it was the technical specifications of the Firebolt. Lee was clearly in love.

As it was, he found himself rising with the crowd as Harry clearly dove after the snitch, only to sink in unison as a bludger caused the Gryffindor seeker to lose sight of it.

“What’s Chang doing?” Penny’s face was flushed, whether more from the cold or from indignation, Percy couldn’t tell. “She should be looking for the snitch, not stalking Potter! She should know she can’t keep up with a _Firebolt_!”

They saw the Ravenclaw seeker purposefully try to block Harry’s path again, this time down by the Gryffindor hoops, and Oliver no doubt saying something uncomplimentary from his post if his face was any indication.

“Look!” Audrey said suddenly, pointing at the ground. Everyone in the section followed her finger and there was a collective gasp as they all saw three black figures.

“No, hold on,” Penny said, releasing her white-knuckled grip on Audrey’s arm. “Those aren’t Dementors.”

As if to prove her point, a silvery cloud came from Harry’s position and enveloped the dark figures, knocking them over. Percy wasn’t sure how Harry had kept hold of his wand for the match— he’d thought they checked for that sort of thing, to prevent hexes and jinxes from flying alongside the players— but he was glad he did.

“No, those are definitely not Dementors,” a Hufflepuff behind them said, clearly amused. “Unless soul-sucking comes in the form of the Slytherin captain and three weedy kids.”

Sure enough, it was Flint and Malfoy, and the two others that were always tagging along behind the blonde menace, tangled up in oversized cloaks. Professor McGonagall was already rapidly heading in their direction, her furious face promising _weeks_ of detention.

“Potter’s got the snitch!” Lee’s magnified whoop and Madam Hooch’s shrill whistle pulled their attention back to the field.

Percy cheered with the rest of Gryffindor and joined them in flooding onto the field where the team was mobbing Harry.

He had time to wrap Oliver in a quick bear hug before giving the twins celebratory hair-ruffles, once again ignoring their objections. “Excellent game!”

“Yes!” He heard Ron yell, and turned to see his youngest brother practically yanking a thrilled-looking Harry up into the air by his arm. “Yes! We won!”

“Yes, well _done_ , Harry!” Percy congratulated, leaving the kid to his well-wishers. He felt positively bubbly, buoyed by the crowd’s spirits and further elated that he was now ten Galleons richer, and more importantly, had dodged whatever awful idea Penny had planned on suckering him into.

Penny was more gracious in handing over the bet money than Percy had expected, but that was likely due to Audrey hanging off her shoulder as well as her own grudging admittance that it _was_ a good game, and Gryffindor’s— Harry’s— win a well-deserved one. It was probably Audrey. Penny could _really_ get into quidditch; she and Oliver together were nearly unstoppable. The two quickly disappeared; Percy really didn’t want to know more.

He made his way up to Gryffindor Tower, where a party was already in full-swing, despite it being not even noon and the match ending barely twenty minutes ago.

“Muckspout,” he said to the Fat Lady’s replacement, who was insistent on changing the password nearly every day and then challenging each person to “defend their honor,” whatever that meant to a painting.

“What ho!” the knight said boisterously. “Rather forward of you to say so, but quite true! Quite true! Why, when my lady—“

“Please, Sir Cadogan,” Percy interrupted. “The entrance.”

“Yes, of course. At your leisure, young sir!” The knight doffed his cap and the painting swung open.

…Percy should probably figure out what the passwords actually meant at some point.

Percy unpinned his Head Boy badge as he ducked through the portrait entrance— into the common area, already resigning himself to the commotion. He had no intention of bringing any sort of authority into the party; it would only get him accusations of “party pooper” from his siblings as well as teasing from Oliver and the rest of their year mates. Gryffindor didn’t need him as Head Boy today, the House was surprisingly good at enforcing the underage drinking rules. Also, wearing the badge would make him feel more guilty when he was stealing the rest of the smuggled-in alcohol later in the evening. By that time, it was late enough that nobody noticed the few remaining bottles disappearing, and besides, he had _eight_ NEWTs this year. He bloody well deserved that Firewhiskey.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, despite— or because of— the early start, the party lost steam fairly early into the afternoon and had all but petered out at nightfall. Most had already gone to bed, though there were a few upper years sitting in the armchairs around the fireplace, sipping drinks and talking quietly. Percy joined them for a while, before making his excuses and slipping away.

After the Black debacle on Halloween, he and Penny had been sleeping less in the Head dorms and more in their own year dorms, preferring to use the Head space as a study room or a place to hang out with Audrey and Oliver without interruption.

So he collected his misbegotten prizes and sloped up the stairs, where Oliver helped him hide them at the bottom of his trunk. The dorm mates already upstairs were asleep in their beds, so there was fortunately no need to bribe their silence.

Exhausted, and maybe a little bit buzzed, Percy collapsed onto his bed and fell asleep instantly.

A piercing scream split his slumber, and he bolted upright.

“What was that?” Landon asked blearily, but Percy was already jackknifing out of bed and pulling on a robe.

Percy hurried downstairs to where a small crowd of tired Gryffindors were already congregating. He sighed to himself to see, once again, Ron and Harry in the midst of everything.

“What is going on?” he asked, perhaps a bit more irritably than he should have, given the circumstances. But now that he had narrowed down the culprits, he found himself relaxing a little. While it had been a while since he had heard that particular shriek, it was very familiar in retrospect: Ron only reached that pitch after a spider nightmare. While those dreams had greatly declined in number— and Percy had thought them quite gone now— they had apparently not vanished entirely, unfortunately.

“Sirius Black! It was Sirius Black!” Ron blurted out when he saw Percy, eyes wide in fright. “I saw him, he was standing over me with a knife!”

That was a new one. Percy had been expecting another mess about an army of spiders tap dancing or some such. And it had certainly had to be a nightmare. He seriously doubted that Black would have stopped at a boy screaming, much as his stomach twisted to think it, and certainly not with a knife in hand. So only a night terror. But—

Percy checked the alert wards he had set up about the common area. If Black had indeed been there, he would have had to go through this room first.

Nothing. Nobody had tripped the alert, or even tampered with it. Not a single unauthorized human— and hadn’t that been tricky to put in place— had gone through the room that night.

“Ron,” he said briskly, but not unkindly. “You had a nightmare. Black was never in here. Everyone, back to bed,” he began directing. There was some shifting, but no one moved. He firmed his lips and was about to try again, when the portrait entrance slammed open.

Professor McGonagall stepped through, no less imposing in her rumpled tartan nightgown and robe. “What is going on? Just because Gryffindor won the match is no excuse for these… shenanigans! Mr. Weasley, I had expected better of you!”

There was no doubt which Mr. Weasley she meant.

“I was just sending everyone back to bed, Professor.” Percy tried to keep the defensiveness out of his voice. “My brother Ron had a nightmare—“

“It wasn’t a nightmare!” Ron broke, shouting at them. “Professor, it was Sirius Black! I woke up, and he was standing over me with a knife!”

Percy gave up.

Professor McGonagall turned to Ron. “He would have had to come through the portrait, Mister Weasley. And he’s certainly not been through the common area.” She glanced at Percy, and he shook his head. None of their alarms had gone off.

“Ask him!” Ron pointed at the portrait entrance. “Ask him!”

“Very well.” Professor McGonagall stepped back out, and they could hear the whole exchange through the open entrance.

“Certainly, my good lady! He had the whole week’s passwords! He read them all off, all on a list!”

The next few minutes passed quickly. Percy quietly pulled Ron aside to apologize for not believing him— still not quite believing everything himself— and sent everyone back to bed, though he doubted many would actually sleep. He certainly wouldn’t be sleeping tonight.

And neither would Neville Longbottom.

Professor McGonagall had already led the shaking third-year out of the common area towards the Headmaster’s office, where he would no doubt have to face a recounting of events and the corresponding punishment. Percy didn’t envy him. The professor had looked _furious_ , and while Percy doubted the Headmaster would be as overtly angry, Neville’s actions had directly put the entire House in danger from a madman.

Percy sighed, looking around the emptied common area.

He hoped this convict business resolved quickly, without any more scares. Somehow he doubted it would be that easy.

.

The next few weeks had more room for Percy to just breathe. He had organized three interview appointments still months away, NEWTs were even further off, and he was finally understanding some of the trickier concepts in Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. It was nice to take a break and relax, and work on some personal projects he’d been putting off.

Everything Flint tasted for the next twelve days tasted like soap, except for the blandest of dishes.

Brighton’s shoes squeaked abominably no matter how many strange gaits he adopted to try to mitigate the sound.

He, Penny, Audrey, and Oliver spent several evenings in the Head dorms listening to the albums Audrey had brought with her from home. They sang, danced terribly, and spent long hours doodling, chatting, and occasionally passing around a bottle of Firewhiskey as they laughed.

It felt good.

.

Early Monday morning found the transfiguration classroom door closed, and when Percy gave it a tug, it didn’t budge.

“Hey, look,” Oliver said, pointing at a neat square of parchment pinned to the door in front of Percy. “There’s a note, if you’re done pulling a door that’s obviously locked. It’s a push door, too, by the way.”

“Yes, okay,” Percy said, a little embarrassed.

“Oh, it says class is canceled today. I wonder why? It just says to show up tomorrow as usual and she expects our essays to be particularly well-written with the extra day to do it.” He suddenly groaned. “I forgot about the essay!”

“Well,” Percy said. “Now you’ve got an extra day to do it.” He dodged the feinted punch from Oliver.

They went back up to the tower, trailed by a few other Gryffindors in their year also taking the Transfiguration NEWT— Penny and Audrey must have already been and gone, Percy decided after failing to see either of them.

Luck happened to be on their side. Landon was sitting at a table by a tall window, looking rather despondently out.

Oliver clapped Percy on the shoulder. “You wait here. I’ve got this.” He strode up to Landon and said something in a low tone Percy couldn’t quite catch.

Landon startled, looking at Oliver in surprise.

Oliver spoke again, jerking his head towards Percy. Percy blinked, unsure of where this was going.

But whatever it was, Landon was nodding, and speaking back to Oliver in an undertone, who was looking decidedly sympathetic and replied with something clearly commiserating.

Percy had no idea what was going on, but he trusted Oliver knew what he was doing. He flopped into the nearest armchair, catching Oliver out of the corner of his eye watching him and then laughing at something Landon said. He slouched then straightened again, staring into the fire, internally mapping out how he ought to present himself at the Ministry.

The Ministry was tricky. They wanted fawning praise, but brown-nosers had no respect. They wanted devotion, but only to their fickle ideals. They wanted brilliance, but only the sort of brilliance easily blinkered by those in power. They wanted cleverness, but they only wanted those clever enough to _stay in their lane_. Anything else was a threat, and crippled accordingly; Percy didn’t think his father’s long tenure in the lowly Misuse of Muggle Artifacts— the absolute bottom rung of the purist and Muggle-phobic Ministry of Magic— was due to a lack of ambition as the bootlickers like Lord Malfoy liked to proclaim.

It was a fine line to walk. Without money or political leverage, it seemed a near-impossible task.

Percy was going to play their game and he was going to _win_.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Oliver’s voice next to him. “We’re done talking now, Percy.”

He looked up to see Oliver and Landon standing next to him. “You are?”

“Yeah, me and Landon had a bit of a talk. He knows we’ve got his back for whatever he decides.”

Landon gave a smile. It was a bit nervous, but it was genuine. “Yeah, well, we’ll see what happens. Thanks for the advice, Oliver. I think I needed to hear it. And good luck to you too.” He clapped Oliver on the back and headed up the stairs to the dorm.

Percy looked between Oliver’s cheery face and Landon’s retreating back. “I think I missed something,” he said slowly.

Oliver gave a laugh. “That’s a first. Nah, we just had a bit of heart-to-heart. I told him our plan and he was completely on board.”

Percy lurched upward. “You told him our plan?” he hissed. That was… honestly, he probably should have expected this. Oliver could be crafty, but often preferred the shock value of the truth over any delicately woven spiderweb.

“Relax, Perce. Not all of it, just that it would be really convenient if he talked to Brighton in a few weeks’ time. He’s sore enough over Brighton practically ignoring him for years to agree to it. I just had to convince him it was genuine.”

“Convince him?”

“He wanted to know why it was so important for me to get a leg up on Brighton,” a sly mischievous smile began to tug at his mouth, “or at least important enough for me trying to get a leg up interfering with him trying to get a leg over.”

Percy wrinkled his nose. “Crass,” he accused. “So what’d you tell him?”

Oliver shrugged one shoulder, a half-wry expression on his face. “It’s personal. Sorry.”

Percy blinked. He and Oliver… had very few secrets between them. “Okay,” he said uncertainly. He mentally scolded himself for being so caught off-guard. He and Oliver didn’t tell each other _everything_ , after all. They were entitled to their own privacy. He just… hadn’t expected it to be stated so baldly to his face. It just surprised him. That’s all.

He hurried to fill the silence before it could become even more awkward. “Do you think I can do this?” he blurted out. Percy closed his eyes in mortification. That was _not_ what he had meant to say.

“Percy, I think you could take over the entire world if you wanted to. The Ministry will be no problem.” Oliver’s voice was quietly sincere.

Percy’s face felt hot all of a sudden. “Yes, well,” he fumbled, staring off at some point away from the both of them. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves just yet,” he gathered himself. “The world sounds like _such_ a bother.” He hesitated, then added cheekily, “Even if it’s a bit tempting.”

Oliver laughed, and Percy felt his shoulders sag with relief, tension gone.

The portrait entrance opened, and Percy saw Hermione practically fall through it, fuming.

“Uh oh,” he murmured to Oliver. “I’d better take care of this.”

Oliver nodded. “I should write that essay now,” he sighed, “before I forget about it again.”

Percy settled into an armchair next to the couch Hermione had rather dramatically flopped herself onto. “What’s the matter, Hermione? And don’t you usually have class at this time?”

Hermione almost seized herself into an upright position in her surprise.

“Whoa!” Percy caught her shoulder before she could topple. He noted the redness of her eyes and nose. “…Are you okay?”

“I- I- I hate Divination!” Hermione burst out. “It’s illogical, and overly-dramatic, and completely _untrue_ , and- and-“ Her lower lip trembled.

Percy sighed. “Ron told me about some of the predictions about Harry.”

“I just don’t understand how a professor could do that!” Hermione cried out, clearly eager for a sympathetic voice. Percy rather doubted Ron had been particularly sympathetic— he was a pragmatic kid, not prone to changing what he saw as fixed in place, like a professor scaring the wits out of a group of thirteen year olds. And honestly, the penchant for drama in Professor Trelawney’s class was probably one of the highlights of Ron’s day. “She tells Harry _every week_ that he’s going to die in some horrible way or that something terrible is going to happen, and everyone is okay with that! And she keeps saying that only those with the Sight will have any sort of success in the class and that the rest of us are just wasting our time! And there’s apparently no way to find out if you have the Sight unless you see the same- the same- _Rorschach blots_ as she does!”

Percy shrugged. “I took that class until OWLs, and I still don’t understand Professor Trelawney. You kind of have to have a suspension of belief to go through that class.”

“Through OWLs?” Hermione asked. “How did you get all the way through fifth year in that class? It’s just a bunch of—“

“Well,” Percy said, before Hermione could continue and perhaps say something she might regret. The common area was mostly empty, but they weren’t the only ones in the room. “I wanted to see how it tied to Arithmancy. But mostly, I wanted something to talk to my brother about.” He laughed at her surprised face. “Bill, my oldest brother, really liked Divination. He took the NEWT, if you’d believe it. Always said that the mystery and the reliance on belief was the closest he’d ever felt to magic as an entity rather than just a tool we use. He’s a cursebreaker too, so the class was helpful for him because a lot of tomb builders were very into Divination. Understanding their viewpoints is really useful in figuring out how to map out tombs and disarm traps and the like, apparently.”

“But _Divination_?” Hermione was trying to wrap her head around it. “ _Transfiguration_ is magic. _Charms_ is magic. Potions, kind of. It’s like chemistry with odd ingredients, mostly. But _Divination_?”

Percy smiled at her wryly. “Well, I only went through an OWL for a reason. As complicated as Arithmancy is, I found I liked the rules of the calculations better, and predictions a little easier to swallow when I understood the method behind them.”

Hermione visibly brightened. “I really like Arithmancy, even if Professor Vector is very strict. You’re taking the NEWT class, right? What’s it like? We’re just doing basic arithmetic and Agrippan single-digit similarity predictions right now.”

“Well, it’s certainly gotten harder since third year. You’ll probably be starting basic calculations soon, and once you have that down, it’s a lot of building from there. But after OWLs is when it starts getting really interesting, combining Arithmancy with potions and charms, and a little bit on how it’s used to invent them. Fascinating stuff, I only wish I understood it more. My friend Audrey is top of the class, and she’s always doing these neat side projects like tweaking charms, which can require a lot of calculations to make sure you get the result right.”

“Wow,” Hermione’s eyes were wide. She looked a lot like Audrey had when Professor Vector had first introduced the subject of combining charms and Arithmancy, Percy thought.

“You’ll do some smaller stuff in fifth year, but it’s sixth and seventh where it really takes off,” Percy told her. He figured that even if she dropped Divination, which was looking more and more likely from what she and Ron had both told him, he could give her a class to look forward to through her time at Hogwarts. “And I wouldn’t worry so much about the predictions about Harry. Granted, I don’t know him as well as you do, but from what Ron tells me it’s become a bit of a joke for them. So if he’s not worried about them, I don’t think you have to worry. I don’t think any of her death predictions have ever come true anyway, just the smaller stuff that’s all a matter of perspective to begin with.”

Hermione huffed, but she was smiling, so Percy counted it as a win. “Like a really vague horoscope. Or a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“Exactly.” Percy checked the time. “Now it’s probably time for you to head off to whatever first period class you’ve got next, before the hallways start flooding with people going to second.”

 _That_ got him a wide-eyed look. “How did you—“

Percy tapped the side of his nose, a gesture he’d seen the headmaster do before (and thought it looked quite dashingly mysterious on himself), and winked. “Head Boy, remember. We’re kept informed of these sorts of things. But really, you’d better go.”

“Yes,” Hermione said, scrambling around for her bag. “Thank you, Percy. And,” she hesitated, looking shy, “do you think Audrey would mind if I asked her about her charms project?”

Percy chuckled. “I think she’d be delighted.”

Hermione lit up, and with another “Thank you!” tossed over her shoulder, was out the portrait in an instant.

“Guess you’re Tower Dad now, Weasley,” an amused drawl drifted across the room.

“Oh shut up, Terrence.” Percy rolled his eyes and went to collect his notes for his next class. It was History of Magic, so maybe he’d even get a nap in between the self-study. It was really too bad Professor Binns had died teaching fourth year material. The ghost never left the topic of the Goblin Wars, and there was some very interesting stuff afterwards.

.

The end of Easter holidays hit hard, and with them, exam pressure

“Slytherin’s up by two hundred points! We’ve got the last game of the season, and Ravenclaw’s not far behind, so this is for the Cup!” Oliver rambled behind Percy as they left Potions, their last class of the day.

Quidditch pressure too, he supposed. Then again, Oliver was always stressed or calculating something for quidditch. He’d asked him once, why he stuck with the sport for so long when every game since fourth year brought him so much stress and anxiety.

‘Fourth year was when I became team captain,’ Oliver had explained, face unusually pensive. ‘I was the youngest captain in a long while— usually you make captain at sixth year, fifth year if you’re really good, but I was really the only option after Charlie graduated. It was a lot of pressure to do well, especially since I’d only started flying on a broomstick the year before I came to Hogwarts. Honestly, I think that if I’d had to do any more coaching and any less actual flying, I would have eventually hated quidditch.’ Percy couldn’t even imagine it. Oliver lived and breathed quidditch. ‘But being up there, in the sky, and everything kind of just falls to the wayside of the absolute rush of the game… it’s one of the best things in the world.’

“We’ve got the perfect team for it this year, I just know it! We’re a lot more cohesive than Slytherin, and as long as we can play that to our advantage…”

So, yes. Exams and quidditch.

“Hold on,” Percy said abruptly, halting Oliver’s quidditch monologue. “Did you hear that?”

They stopped and listened intently.

“Down that corridor,” Oliver said, already moving forward.

The view that greeted them was almost comical. A Gryffindor fourth year, Mariela, and a Slytherin sixth year, Rowland, were glaring at each other from a fair distance away. Their wands were in their hands, but as their hands were firmly cupped over their ears, the risk of a duel was rather lower than he had first thought.

“ _What_ is going on?” Percy asked, striding forward.

Neither noticed him until he was almost in between them. They startled, and Mariela brought her hands down tentatively. White and green bulbous projections sprouted from her ears. When Percy looked over at Rowland, her hands also lowering, he saw what were unmistakably leeks of all things also sprouting from her ears.

Ah. So the duel had already occurred. And now the two were dealing with an unexpected aftermath.

“What happened?” Percy asked, then stopped himself. “Never mind, I don’t want to know. Hospital wing, both of you. Please.” Because if he didn’t reiterate that rather obvious direction, someone would try to remove the leeks themselves. And that rarely ended well.

They stared at him.

“I don’t think they can here you, Percy.” Oliver’s voice was full of poorly-concealed humor. “On account of the leeks.”

Percy sighed, and turned to face the Slytherin. “Hospital wing,” he said slowly and clearly so that she could read his lips. “Now.” She gave a huff and strode away with false nonchalance. Percy turned to repeat his instructions to Mariela, who sheepishly nodded and scampered after the Slytherin.

“I think that’s one of the oddest things I’ve seen a fight result in,” Percy said to Oliver as they continued walking. “I’ve seen extra appendages, slime, boils, and strange colors, but I think this is the first time I’ve seen a symptom of _vegetables_.”

“On the both of them, too,” Oliver noted. “That’s kind of impressive.”

Percy snorted. “They certainly hadn’t expected it, that’s for sure. Did you see their faces?”

They looked at each other, and started laughing.

“This is why Madam Pomfrey always looks so irritated with us,” Oliver gasped. “Because we keep showing up with _vegetables_ growing out of our ears!”

“And fish backsides!” Percy added, recalling a rather memorable duel by several upper years when he and Oliver had been third years.

They fell apart again, laughter only dying off as they finally reached the Great Hall.

“What’s so funny?” Audrey asked as they settled next to her at the table.

Percy’s mouth twitched, and he had to look away from Oliver to prevent from bursting into laughter again. “We’ll tell you later.”

“Until then, not a word will _leek_ from our lips,” Oliver chipped in.

A snort escaped from Percy before he could stop it.

“Sorry,” Oliver said, not sounding sorry at all.

Audrey looked at them suspiciously, then visibly chose to drop the subject, rolling her eyes. “Whatever.”

“Hey Oliver,” Angelina called from farther down the table. “Katie just had an idea about a formation to split Flint’s attention and hopefully get him hit with a bludger.”

Oliver grinned, scooping up his plate in one hand and his bag in another. “If you’ll excuse me.”

Percy and Audrey waved him off.

They ate in silence for a while, occasionally commenting on classwork and the most recent Ancient Runes practical, which despite its name, had not been about anything practical whatsoever.

“Huh.” Audrey put down her fork and stared into the distance thoughtfully. “I just realized something.”

“What?” Percy asked.

“Just that apparently wizards like their dramatics.” Audrey rolled her eyes. “The first Black ‘attack’ was on Halloween, and the second on the evening of a quidditch game.”

“Two occurrences does not make a pattern,” Percy said slowly, setting down his silverware. He wasn’t entirely sure where she was going with this, but he was positive he wouldn’t like it.

“No,” Audrey said, “but also consider: Dementors attack the train as we begin our year at Hogwarts. Sirius Black attacks Halloween night. The Dementors show up— and we still aren’t entirely sure how they got so close on the grounds— to Gryffindor’s first quidditch match.” She ticked them all off on her fingers. “And Black breaks into the tower on the night of Gryffindor’s second match.” She paused, and added quietly, “Two years ago— Potter’s first year— a troll entered Hogwarts on Halloween. Last year, the Chamber of Secrets was opened. On Halloween.”

Percy pushed away his plate, then dropped his head into his arms. “Merlin’s _balls_ ,” he said with feeling.

.

The night before the match, Gryffindor Tower was abuzz with activity. Gryffindor was close to winning the Quidditch Cup for the first time in years, and everyone knew it. The air was electric with excitement.

Percy spotted Oliver hunched over a small model pitch towards the back of the room, moving figurines around and muttering to himself.

He sat down next to him and said, “Working out last-minute plays?”

Oliver started. “What? Oh. Yeah, some things I just thought of to add to a formation if it comes to it. Easy enough to explain instead of having to work it out on the pitch beforehand.”

Percy raised an eyebrow. “Well that’s good, considering your team would not be happy if you dragged them out for a last-minute practice at nine o’clock at night.”

“Nine? Already?” Oliver’s head shot up, startled. He began quickly but carefully deconstructing the miniature pitch, scooping the figurines and hoops into a small drawstring bag.

Percy watched, bemused but not entirely unsurprised, as Oliver began moving around the common area, hustling his teammates to bed. Fred and George made a production of it, but much like the rest of the team, were quite used to Oliver’s antics by now and retired without _too_ much of a fuss.

He softly snorted to himself, shaking his head, and bent back over the Potions notes he had been reviewing.

.

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and sunlight poured through the Great Hall. The ceiling reflecting the cloudless sky, perfect for a game of quidditch.

Percy followed the team into the hall for breakfast. He was amused to see not only Gryffindor House applaud their entrance, but Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff as well. Slytherin had won the last few Quidditch House Cups, and it seemed the other two houses were ready for a shakeup, even if it wouldn’t be by their own.

He sat down with Audrey, Oliver once again cloistered away at the end with the rest of the team, and glanced up at the head table. He hadn’t forgotten Audrey’s words a week prior— impossible to— but had managed to convince Headmaster Dumbledore and all four Heads of Houses to attend the match. Professors McGonagall and Snape had already been guaranteed to be there, but it wouldn’t hurt to have all five there plus Professor Lupin, who was not only a surprisingly good teacher but also seemed highly invested in Harry’s continued survival (which if Percy hadn’t known of Professor Lupin’s friendship with James Potter, would have been a little suspicious).

It had taken some fast-talking to convince all six without coming off as overly-paranoid, but he was glad of it; there was no such thing as overkill in these sorts of circumstances.

So of course the match went perfectly fine.

Well, not _fine_ fine, Percy had cringed with the rest of the crowd when the two Slytherin beaters collided. Audrey on the other hand had snorted, reminding Percy of why she was the scariest of their friend group. There were a lot of fouls, mostly from the Slytherins, but not all as the Slytherin team began to target individual players and the Gryffindor team retaliated.

“This is shaping up to be a dirty match,” Penny had murmured to them, watching the match closely.

When Harry had at last grabbed the snitch, shrugging off Malfoy’s apparent attempts to pull him off of his broom, Percy felt no shame in jumping up and down and roaring with the rest of the Gryffindors. He could see Oliver start to sob as the Gryffindor team flew to where Headmaster Dumbledore was standing and holding the Quidditch House Cup trophy for the winning team.Percy started towards that section of stands as Oliver— tears still streaming down his cheeks— handed the Cup to Harry to hoist in the air.

Penny stopped him. “Look,” she said, grinning. She pointed.

To the right of the teachers sat three people in drab robes, scratching notes down on pieces of parchment with their quills. One man stood, tucking his quill and parchment away, and began approaching the Gryffindor team.

Percy’s breath caught. He rapidly conjured a small pair of binoculars, and held them up, refocusing on the man, who Oliver had just turned to face. On the mystery wizard’s breast pocket was a dark blue shield with an “X” of two golden bulrushes.

“United came back!” He laughed, delighted, vanishing the binoculars and whirling to pick up Penny in a huge bear hug. “They’re talking to Ollie! Ollie’s gonna try out for United!”

Penny laughed, beating his back with her fists until he put her down.

They were waiting for Oliver at the castle entrance when he returned from talking with the scouts, face flushed and glowing.

“I’ve been invited to try out!” He exclaimed as soon as he was in earshot. “United and the Arrows— they _both_ wanted me to try out for their teams!”

“That’s amazing!” Percy said. He, Penny, and Audrey nearly toppled Oliver over with the combined force of their group hug, a muffled “As if they could possibly say otherwise,” from Audrey and an answering hum of agreement from Penny.

“Yeah,” Percy agreed, squeezing tight. “They’d be fools to not.”

.

The night was thankfully free of any shenanigans, by Harry or otherwise, and with no sign of Black.

Percy met Audrey at the breakfast table early the next day. “Guess the pattern didn’t hold,” he said cheerfully, plopping down next to her.

She smiled at him over her newspaper, and went back to reading her article.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which I discover I can’t actually write quidditch.
> 
> This chapter was labeled in my notes as “Finishing off Percy’s senior year” but obviously that didn’t happen. Seventh year was supposed to be an easy summary like sixth, but then PoA plot got in the way and it kind of. um. exploded. There’s still quite a bit left, I just ended up chopping it at a more or less good place to end the chapter so it wouldn’t be so ridiculously long. Save meeee I want to get to the Ministryyyy >:(
> 
> Also Sir Cadogan likes teaching children old-timey insults and swear words, I don’t make the rules.


	6. What, like it’s hard? Pt. IV

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end of seventh year... finally.
> 
> Percy is a lanky ball of stress. It’s not a good look.

The bubble of excitement from Quidditch quickly popped as all were reminded of their upcoming exams.

“Do I even need Transfiguration?” Oliver asked helplessly one evening, hunched over their study guides in the Gryffindor common room. “I’m going to play quidditch, and if I can’t play quidditch, I can just take a job as a shopkeeper or something. Besides, I only need OWLs for a minor Ministry position.” He waved his quill at the stack of books at the end of their table. “I could drop out of Transfiguration right now and never have to deal with it again.”

“If you dropped out of Transfiguration, Professor McGonagall would skin you faster than you can say ‘Protega Maxima,’” Percy said without looking up from his essay. He felt Oliver shift, and added, “Professor Snape would turn you into potions ingredients.”

Oliver subsided. “Professor Snape wouldn’t care,” he said a little sulkily. “He’d be glad to be rid of another Gryffindor.”

Percy looked up, eyebrow raised. “Care to test that theory?” He snorted as Oliver looked away.

“Yeah whatever, Mister Eight NEWTs. How do you even find time to sleep?”

Percy rolled his eyes, and immediately regretted it as his eyes somehow felt even more tired and dry afterward. “Don’t remind me. I think I’m more caffeine than wizard at the moment.”

The background noise of the common room swelled behind them, with shouts and minor explosions coming from by the fireplace where a game of exploding snap had apparently just begun.

Percy turned, scowling at yet another major interruption that evening. “The next person who makes a loud noise or disturbance will be losing points,” he loudly declared to the room. “If you must make noise, do so outside of the common room.”

His tired gaze honed in immediately on Fred and George, who raised their hands innocently. He narrowed his eyes at them and their notes, which were more than likely notes on pranks and not actual classwork or study materials.

A fourth year, perhaps emboldened by Fred and George’s faux expressions, set off another snap explosion.

“One point from Gryffindor!” Percy snapped.

He turned back to their table as the awkward silence began filling with quiet chatter once more.

Oliver whistled lowly. “You tell them, Perce.”

Percy scowled to himself. “There’s only three weeks left until exams, they should know to be more considerate.” His expression soured. “I was really looking forward to studying in the Head Dorms.” He and Penny had completely moved out of the head dorms the week prior. It had been agreed that they were needed in their respective House dorms as exams loomed nearer, shadowed by the ever-present threat of Sirius Black, who had all but vanished.

“You do what you have to do,” Oliver shrugged commiseratingly.

“Hey Wood, Weasley,” Brighton plopped down at their table. He grinned brightly at them. “Are you ready for the Transfiguration NEWT? I hear it’s going to be _brutal_.” He leaned in, lowering his voice to a loud whisper. “My father said one of the proctors was Professor McGonagall’s mentor when she was getting her Mastery. Apparently she’s absolutely ancient, and has nearly impossible standards!” He grinned brightly at them.

“Great,” Percy grumped, not looking up. He made another note to his sheet pointedly.

Oliver _mmm_ ’ed noncommittally.

Brighton faltered, but forged on. “Anyway, I bet you’re super prepared for it, always top of the class and all. I’m not too worried either, my father said that I’m sure to get a decent entry-level position in the Ministry with my scores. He said he’ll put a good word in for me, and I’ve applied for a position in his department. I think it’d be really cool to work with him, don’t you think?” He turned to Percy, who was attempting to read the passage in front of him for the third time. “I know you’ve applied for a couple things throughout the Ministry, Weasley, are you hoping to work with your father too?”

Percy’s quill snapped in half.

“Is that what _your_ father told you?” he asked snidely.

Brighton looked at him, blinking. “Uh, what?”

Percy viciously gnawed the inside of his cheek to prevent himself from saying something he might regret later. He shoved his chair back and stood. A sharp jerk of his wand sent his notes and books jamming into his bag, and he swept past Oliver and Brighton, up the stairs and into their dorm room.

He stewed as he prepared for bed. Logically, he knew such a simple conversation shouldn’t have set him off, but… He was tired. Exams were soon, his interviews fast approaching behind, and he needed to rid himself of this stress before he imploded.

Sighing, he flopped onto bed and focused on relaxing his muscles and thinking about empty space until he slipped into sleep.

.

“Thank you Mister Weasley,” the wizened proctor said. “That will be all.”

Percy nodded his head in thanks and hurried out of the room as calmly as he could.

Exams had gone… well, they were over. He knew he’d done well on most, but also felt incredibly uncertain. The last time he’d felt this confident about an Arithmancy exam he’d completely botched it.

Oliver peeled himself up from his lounging position against the wall and fell in step with him. “How’d it go?” He laughed at Percy’s sour face and lightly punched him in the shoulder. “Well, you’re done now. You’ve finally finished your exams, how does it feel?”

“Like I could sleep for a week,” Percy said wryly. “You?”

“Same,” Oliver said cheerfully. “But it’s sunny today, and Audrey and Penny are saving a spot by the lake so we’ll have to move our coma-naps outside.”

Percy mock-punched him back as they wandered outside.

Penny and Audrey were in their usual spot, Penny laying on her back with her head resting in Audrey’s lap. Audrey was leaning back on one hand, carding the other through Penny’s hair. Audrey glanced up in greeting, Penny throwing a lazy wave in their direction.

Oliver flopped face-first into the grass. “Nap-time,” he mumbled into the ground. “Good night.”

Percy huffed a laugh and followed suit, turning to face the sky. He flung an arm across his forehead to block out the bright sun. “Night-night,” he parroted back.

The rest of the afternoon was spent in sunny laziness, dozing beneath the sound of water lapping at the shore behind them and the occasional shout of laughter from further up the grounds.

.

As soon as he stepped into the Great Hall, Percy sensed something off.

It was still very early in the morning and usually there would only be a few students scattered throughout the tables; most of the school would filter in in the next hour.

Today, almost the entire Slytherin table was full.

They were hushed, despite nearly everyone talking at once in furtive whispers. Percy noticed that they were all— every single one— sending wary to downright hostile stares at an increasingly uncomfortable Professor Lupin. Professor Snape, a few chairs down, looked like a fat cat who had the mouse pinned exactly where he wanted it.

Percy settled at the Gryffindor table across from another early-bird upperclassman. “What’s going on?” he asked Juliet in an undertone.

She shrugged at him and quietly said, “I’m not sure exactly, but there’s a rumor going around that Professor Lupin’s a werewolf.” She paused, then continued, “Whether or not it’s true, this means trouble for sure. And… Professor Snape looks too smug for it to not be _something_.”

This was true. Despite his reputation, Professor Snape wasn’t one to gloat unnecessarily; such expressions were saved solely for his victories, whether they be verbal spars or examples of superiority. Unfortunately for much of the school populace, Professor Snape rarely lost.

A sudden movement at the Head Table caught Percy’s attention, as Professor Lupin abruptly stood. The man looked even more haggard than usual, speaking a few words with Headmaster Dumbledore before quickly departing through the side door. Percy couldn’t help but think the man was fleeing from something. As the rumors spread like wildfire as the hall began to fill, he couldn’t blame him.

He looked back at Headmaster Dumbledore, and started as the Headmaster met his gaze. The napkin at his place unfolded and words seeped onto the fabric.

_Meeting in ten minutes. Wiggling wafers._

After a few moments, the words faded and the napkin returned to its original crumple.

Percy looked up again, but the Headmaster had already left. He shoveled the rest of his potatoes in his mouth in as dignified a rush as he could, and scrambled out of his seat.

Penny caught up with him halfway to the eagle statue. “Do you know what this is all about?”

“No,” Percy said, “just the rumors that are going around today. I’m assuming it’ll be about that.”

Penny nodded. “Wiggling wafers,” she said to the statue, and led the way up the staircase.

The door swung open before they could knock.

“Please, take a seat, Miss Clearwater, Mister Weasley,” Headmaster Dumbledore said from behind his desk. Fawkes gave the headmaster’s hair a gentle tug with his beak before flying back to his perch with a small chirp.

“Headmaster,” Penny said as they sat in the two comfortable chairs in front of the desk. “Is this about Professor Lupin?”

“Yes,” said the Headmaster, “and no. I suppose the first order of business will to inform you of Professor Lupin’s resignation, tendered to me just this morning. Professor Lupin indeed is a werewolf and has been for quite some time. I was aware of this when I hired him for the Defense position, and every month Professor Snape brewed him a dose of Wolfsbane Potion with which he controlled his change. Unfortunately, due to recent circumstances as well as this morning’s… school-wide revelations, Professor Lupin has decided to step down, and will not be returning next year.”

Percy sat back, eyes wide. Well. That was… unexpected. He felt a brief wave of pity for Professor Lupin. Professor Snape had long had an eye on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position, and had clearly decided now was the time to leverage his information against Professor Lupin. But why now? Why not earlier? Actually… He leaned forward again, but was cut off by Penny’s sharp,

“What recent circumstances? What occurred besides the rumors that prompted his resignation?”

Yes. Precisely.

Headmaster Dumbledore sighed, his gaze falling on Percy over the rim of his half-moon spectacles.

Percy did not like this one bit. He had a very bad feeling that…

“Last evening,” a full moon, Percy was now realizing, and the pit in his gut got a little hollower, “Mister Ronald Weasley followed his rat” Merlin _damn_ it, Percy knew he was not going to like this “down to the Whomping Willow.” Why was it getting _worse?_ “He was followed by Mister Potter and Miss Granger, who saw a large black dog bite him in the leg and drag him down a tunnel underneath the Willow.” The Headmaster was looking remarkably unphased by the news he was delivering.

“Headmaster Dumbledore,” Percy bit out icily, “if Professor Lupin—“

“Peace, Mister Weasley.” The Headmaster held up a hand. “Professor Lupin was in his office at the time, awaiting Professor Snape’s arrival with his potion.”

Percy subsided with no small amount of suspicion.

“If I may continue?”

“Where is Ron now?”

“Mister Weasley is currently in the Hospital Wing for a broken leg, though I believe Madam Pomfrey will be releasing him from her care shortly. Mister Potter and Miss Granger suffered no injuries.”

Percy nodded shortly. When he glanced over, Penny was tight-lipped, obviously just as unhappy with the situation. Why had they not been informed of the incident? They were the Head prefects, and Ron had been in the Hospital Wing all night. Ron was his _little_ _brother_.

The headmaster proceeded with his explanation. “Mister Potter and Miss Granger followed the dog into the tunnel. Professor Snape happened to see the two disappear into a place he had long suspected of a secret passageway, and elected to follow to ensure their safety.”

Or to dock a hundred points each, Percy thought dryly. Professor Snape must have been _delighted_ at the opportunity. He respected the man greatly, but no one in the castle was unaware of the man’s unreasonable hatred of Gryffindor, and Harry in particular.

“Headmaster,” Penny interjected. “Was Professor Snape carrying the Wolfsbane Potion at the time?”

That was an excellent question.

Headmaster Dumbledore nodded. “I am sure Severus called for a House Elf to deliver the potion in his stead the moment he found his route delayed. Upon his arrival at the end of the tunnel— the Shrieking Shack— Professor Snape overheard Sirius Black confess to Misters Potter and Weasley and to Miss Granger that he was an unregistered Animagus and had returned to Hogwarts to find his revenge for his incarceration in Azkaban.”

Percy went white. “S-Sirius Black? An unregistered _Animagus_?” His voice rose in pitch at the end and he thought hysterically that _that_ was why their traps and wards never worked— they had been looking for human criminals, not _dogs_.

“Naturally, Professor Snape entered the room at once to apprehend Sirius Black, but was caught by surprise and overpowered, and subsequently knocked out for a short amount of time. I understand at this point Professor Lupin was getting worried and had followed Professor Snape to the castle grounds, where he encountered Sirius Black and the three students returning through the passageway. Unfortunately, in the excitement, Professor Lupin had neglected to take his potion before he left his office, and was caught quite unawares by the full moon. He transformed and luckily chose to target Sirius Black, who turned into his Animagus form to defend himself. Professor Snape woke shortly afterwards, collected Misters Potter and Weasley and Miss Granger from the grounds, and escorted them to the Hospital Wing whilst summoning myself and several Aurors to capture Sirius Black as well as contain Professor Lupin.”

“They got him, then?” Penny asked urgently. “Sirius Black was captured?”

Headmaster Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. “Sirius Black was placed in a highly warded room in the smallest east wing tower and guarded by Dementors. In methods still unknown to us, he escaped in the night and vanished from Hogwarts.”

“What?” Penny said faintly. Percy wondered in terror if he’d have to start setting dog-traps around Hogwarts and the Burrow as well.

“We suspect he fled on a Hippogriff that had escaped its pen before its execution, though of course we have no proof of the fact.”

_Where did the Hippogriff come from?_ Percy wailed internally. He couldn’t keep track of all these threads at once.

Fortunately, he was with a Ravenclaw.

“What sort of measures are we putting into place to prevent Black from attacking Potter, or any students? What are the protections the Aurors will be offering Potter until Black is fully apprehended?” Penny shot off her questions with a focus Percy really appreciated right now, too caught on _Sirius Black attacked his brother and then got away_.

Headmaster Dumbledore smiled benignly. “Fortunately, the one silver lining in these unfortunate circumstances is that we have confirmed that Sirius Black has not in fact been targeting Mister Potter. In fact, while residing in Azkaban, Sirius Black had become under the impression that the man who alerted the Aurors to his crimes was still alive: Peter Pettigrew. He believed that Peter Pettigrew was also an Animagus… a small rat.” He raised an eyebrow at Percy. “It was Mister Weasley’s unfortunate luck to be one of the few students to have such an animal in his possession at the time. Mister Weasley’s rat has since gone missing and, we can only assume, has fallen prey to the man.”

Percy couldn’t. He really couldn’t. He put his head in his hands. It was like Lockhart again, but worse, because he had actually made his little brother a target this time. It wasn’t Voldemort, but was his right-hand man really any better?

He felt a hand on his shoulder and heard Penny ask, “Is that all, Headmaster? I believe Percy would like to see Ron for himself now, if we have nothing else to discuss.”

“Just one matter of business left,” the headmaster said. “I had asked several weeks ago for each of you to consider your recommendations for next year’s Head Boy and Girl. I understand that this is difficult timing for you, Mister Weasley, but if we can resolve this this morning, you will have the rest of term to yourself, and may return your badges on the train to King’s Cross.”

Percy bit his lip and tasted blood. Penny’s hand tightened, then released. He sat up, marshaling his face into something resembling calm.

“Cedric Diggory,” Percy said. He could get through this. “He is a good leader, remains calm and level-headed under stress, and has little care for House divides, so he is respected by all four Houses. I’m not completely sure for Head Girl though, either Ebner or Morikawa.” He looked at Penny.

“I recommend Diggory as well, and Cleo Morikawa for Head Girl. She has consistently set a good example for students, and been fair in her judgements and has a good sense for understanding abilities and limitations when setting tasks. Ebner does too, but can be a little standoffish at times, while Morikawa has been tutoring younger years in their Potions and Herbology homework in her off time.” She waited a moment. “If that will be all?”

Dumbledore inclined his head. “I believe that is all. I know that this has been a difficult year, and I and the staff all appreciate your hard work and steadfast sense of duty. We will take into account your recommendations when selecting next year’s Head Prefects, and I wish you both well in your future endeavors.”

Percy bobbed his head and mumbled a thank-you, and tried not to rush out the door.

“Thank you, Headmaster,” he heard Penny close behind him. “We appreciate your support.”

“That was hard to sit through,” she said at last when they reached the first flight of stairs. “I’ve never heard a case more thoroughly botched before. And you know I _still_ don’t know if the Wolfsbane Potion ever reached Professor Lupin in the first place. It sure didn’t sound like it.”

Percy exploded. “I don’t know what they were _thinking!_ They knew about the passage but it wasn’t watched, Wolfsbane never reached the _werewolf_ on a _full moon_ , and nobody thought to inform us that Ron was attacked by a bloody _mass murderer!_ And maybe all of that could be excused, heat of the moment and all that, bloody hell, you know except for the fact that that last part is absolutely inexcusable. But even beyond all of that, they, what, locked the Animagus in a room _in the very same castle he’s been apparently roaming for months_ , no guards, no wards or bonds or anything, when he’s already proven he can escape Azkaban! They should have at the very least restrained him and immediately taken him to the Ministry holding cells! Not left him in _Hogwarts_! I mean, what did they expect? That Sirius Black would go, ‘oh no, you caught me fair and square, I’ll just sit tight here and patiently wait to be Kissed’? _I_ would have done a better job than that, and I’m just a bloody eighteen-year-old. This is their bloody _job!_ ” He fumed.

This was not something Percy would forget, he knew. And it was not something he could forgive.

.

And just as he was calming down that evening (Ron having begrudgingly allowed himself to be fussed over and scolded for being on the grounds so close to dark)…

“Percy, have you told Professor McGonagall that you’ll be out on Wednesday?” Audrey asked. “Are you still Apparating to the Ministry?”

Percy stopped in his tracks. “I forgot that was this week. I completely forgot.” He looked over at her. “I’m so screwed.”

.

Percy strode into the Ministry, pinning his visitor’s badge— _Percy Weasley, interview_ — to the front of his robes as he beelined for the atrium lifts. He pressed the button for the fourth floor and waited impatiently for the doors to close, only to spring forward to hold them open for a terrifyingly familiar face.

Barty Crouch Sr., grunted at him in acknowledgment, shuffling through the papers in his hands. “Fourth floor.”

Percy tried to make himself as small as possible, before reminding himself that he was indeed supposed to be there, regardless of intimidating potential employers. He straightened, looking forward squarely and forcing as much confidence into his posture as he could.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Crouch frown and look up from the papers to glance at the floor buttons as the lift lurched into motion. Percy pretended not to notice, studying the closed lift doors intently.

“Are you interviewing for the Policy Office post?” Crouch said abruptly.

Percy turned towards him. “Yes, sir, I am. Percy Weasley, Mister Crouch.” He offered his hand.

Crouch shifted his papers to his left hand and reached out to shake. “One of Arthur’s sons?”

“His third son,” Percy nodded. He really hoped he wasn’t coming across as awkward as he felt. He was feeling very awkward at the moment.

“Mm. Interested in government work, are you?” Crouch raised an eyebrow.

“Yes, sir.” Percy shifted.

“Hm.”

Percy found himself mentally willing the lift to rise faster.

The lift doors finally opened (“Fourth floor, Department of International Magical Cooperation,” the voice said coolly), and Percy followed Crouch down the hall. They stopped by the third door.

“Here’s your room. They should be ready for you,” said Crouch.

“Thank you. It was nice to meet you, Mister Crouch,” said Percy.

Crouch nodded and continued down the hallway as Percy knocked on the door.

“Come in!” called a voice from inside.

Percy walked into the small meeting room. A large table had been placed in the center of the room, with several chairs around it and along the far side of the wall. Two middle-aged wizards were already sitting at the furthest side of the table.

“Mister Weasley?” One of the wizards rose up to shake his hand. “I’m Walter Brighton, and this is my colleague, Alexander Geary.” Brighton Sr. looked remarkably like Brighton Jr. but older and less overtly obnoxious, while Geary had the unenthused look all Ministry officials did in the last few years before they could retire.

“Percy Weasley,” Percy said, shaking his hand. “A pleasure to meet you both.”

“Please, take a seat,” Brighton Sr. said, waving his hand at the empty chair, and sat back down.

Percy sat.

“Alright, Mister Weasley, if you’d tell us a bit about yo—“

A knock on the door was all the warning they had before the door swung open.

“Mister Crouch!” Brighton exclaimed, clearly surprised by this unexpected interruption.

Crouch, hands now papers-free, summoned a chair and sat on the other side of Geary. He sat and said nothing, leaning back but with his attention fixed on Brighton and Percy.

“Very well, then we will continue,” Brighton said, coughing slightly. “Mister Weasley, it says here you had worked briefly in the Ludicrous Patents Office last summer. If you could tell us about your responsibilities in that role…”

The interview went on for some time. Percy answered Brighton’s questions as best he could, as well as fielding the occasional question or comment by Geary, who appeared to be much less invested in the process. Crouch said nothing, only observed.

They asked why he chose not to continue his employment in the patent office (the office had only needed him for the summer, and he was more interested in the policy/regulation side of things than the patents themselves), what he hoped to get out of this position (experience and perspective on international law, a deeper understanding of government operations and the political stage, the opportunity to represent the British Ministry in its relationships with foreign governments, and, though Percy didn’t say this last part aloud, enough money to afford his own place— he loved his brothers but he didn’t always enjoy sharing rooms with them), what qualities he thought made him a good fit for the position (highly organized, dealt well with pressure, used to operating on a tight schedule, etc. etc.), and so on.

It was exhausting, but he thought he was doing rather well. Brighton had seemed impressed with his answers, and Geary was frowning significantly less, which Percy chose to take as a sign of approval.

“Mister Weasley.” Crouch shifted forward slightly. “What is your opinion on cauldrons?”

“Cauldrons, sir?” Percy asked, thrown. The other two interviewers were also looking at Crouch incredulously. “Well, I can’t say I’ve given them much thought.” He paused before he could let out the nervous laugh bubbling up in his throat, and tried to give the question some consideration.

Crouch waited expectantly.

Percy gulped. “I am not as adept in Potions as a few of my classmates,” he started slowly, “so I suppose I do not view cauldrons in the same way, with the same sort of, uh, eye for brewing, I suppose.” He thought frantically as Crouch’s eyes bored into him. “I appreciate them for their purpose of course, and I… I suppose I also must appreciate the work and process that so many wizards have put into the manufacture and design of the cauldron I use today—“ he seized upon a lecture he faintly remembered from third year when a student had asked why they only brewed in pewter and none of specialty cauldrons seen in Diagon (Professor Snape’s reply had been blistering)— “so that my standard cauldron is sturdy, without physical flaws, and magically inert, as well as being identical to the next standard cauldron so that most brewers do not have to consider cauldron-to-cauldron differences that might affect a brewing, and without sacrificing quality with substandard materials.”

There was a long silence.

Percy tried to unobtrusively create a gap between his side and his arms to allow some air where he could feel himself sweating profusely.

Crouch brought a finger to his chin, and Percy almost cringed in expectation.

“And how would this topic be relevant to international cooperation?”

Percy wanted to cry a little bit.

Brighton and Geary looked like they might want to as well.

“How cauldron appreciation would be relevant to international cooperation, sir?” Percy asked, rather hoping to get back to the _normal_ stressful interview questions.

“The relevance of cauldrons.”

Percy reminded himself that he really did want this job, and that walking out of the interview (or bursting into frustrated tears) would probably not help his case when applying to other departments. “Well, international cooperation must consider cauldrons when cauldrons are being shipped overseas, both for the business aspect itself as well as inspecting imports and exports. Britain shares its cauldron standards with other countries” he hoped, he was kind of making some things up at this point “which requires agreement between them on the standards themselves. And if an international body like the ICW has to deal with a case involving cauldrons,” Percy hoped Crouch wouldn’t ask for an example because he really had no idea what he was talking about, “then,” he floundered, “then the body has to agree on the cauldron,” he ended lamely.

He should probably start preparing for his interview with the Floo registration office, he thought gloomily. This one was clearly a disaster.

“Hm.” Crouch said.

There was a long pause.

Brighton shuffled some papers, and said at last, “Well, thank you for coming in today, Mister Weasley. You will receive our decision by owl sometime next week.”

“Thank you, sir,” Percy nodded at them and stood, studiously _not_ bolting for the door. “I hope you all have a good day.”

Even the sight of Brighton, Jr., rumpled and highly flustered as he burst into the room, failed to cheer him up.

“Gregory!” Percy heard behind him as he left. “What on earth—“

“I’m so sorry I’m late, Father, I— oh, um, hello Mister Crouch…” The door closed.

.

Percy lazily waved his letter in front of Oliver. “Guess what?” He said, falling into the nasally sing-song that could so easily aggravate his brothers faster than anything else. “Guess what, guess what, guess what. Ollie, Ollie. Guess what.”

Oliver rolled his eyes and snatched the unfolded paper from Percy’s hand. He skimmed the writing, and let out a whoop that startled half the Gryffindor table. “Your dad got tickets!”

Percy grinned as Audrey leaned over curiously. “Ludo Bagman was looking to fill the top box, and who better to ask to fill so many seats than the Weasleys?”

“That’s amazing!” Oliver said gleefully. “The top box! You’re going to be sitting with all the fancy people, and you’ll meet the teams at the end of the game! That’s going to be so cool!”

“Yeah,” Percy laughed fondly. “And Dad managed to get tickets for Harry and for Hermione too, since Mum’s not going. Ron and Ginny are going to freak.” He looked down the table where Ron was indeed shaking Harry’s shoulders so hard Percy was almost worried Harry’s head might just shake off. Hermione was just looking exasperatedly at the two. Percy snorted and returned his attention to Oliver’s babbling.

“We’ve got tickets too, though of course we’re in the general seating, and we’ve put in a reservation for a camping spot too. You’ll have to come see us before the game starts, we’ll have to make sure you’re properly kitted out to cheer on Ireland!”

“And what if I’m keen on supporting Bulgaria?” Percy teased. “I’ve heard Viktor Krum is the best Seeker in the league. I’ve heard good things about South Africa too, they might beat out Ireland in the semis.”

Oliver gasped dramatically. “Absolutely not. Krum’s good, but Ireland’s whole lineup is top-notch. And it’s definitely going to be an Ireland-Bulgaria matchup. South Africa is a really good team, but they’ve never won against Ireland. I cannot believe my best friend would betray me in this manner! Oh, woe!” He mimed fainting, arm flung over his forehead. It went unsaid that Italy would not defeat Bulgaria for a place in the finals; it had been quite the shakeup for the team to advance so far, but agreed by all that their winning streak was unlikely to last.

Audrey put in, “As long as they keep the game going long enough for Krum’s snitch to not matter. What? I listen to Penny when she’s going on about this stuff. The only way Ireland will keep Krum from the snitch is a well-placed Bludger, and he’s too good of a flyer for that to happen.”

“Are you going to the Cup?” Percy asked.

Audrey waved a hand. “Nah. France got knocked out of the running early this year, so Penny and I are going to have a date night the day of the match. We’re hoping with most people at the game we can go someplace nice and it’ll be relatively uncrowded.”

Percy privately thought that any place short of Malfoy-level budget would still have the game playing on the wireless. Bulgaria had destroyed England early on in the bracket, so every England supporter would be backing Ireland this summer.

“How’s the house-hunting going, by the way?” Percy asked Audrey. “Have you found anything yet?”

Audrey smiled, one hand coming up to prop up her cheek. “We’ve got five places lined up to look at,” she said proudly. “We’re actually scheduled to visit the first tomorrow afternoon, so we’ll be heading there as soon as we get off the train.”

“That’s fantastic!” Percy said. “Tell us as soon as you do, and we can have a get-together.” He smiled wryly at himself. “I’ll just have to live vicariously through you guys, since I probably won’t be moving out of the Burrow for a while, depending on which job I get.”

“Speaking of,” Oliver interrupted, pointing upwards, “Is that one for you?”

A flock of official-looking owls wearing the Ministry crest were winging their way into the hall, far enough behind the daily mail rush to draw attention. A small group split off to each table, but Percy only had eyes for the three headed to their end of Gryffindor table. One landed in front of Brighton a quarter of the way down, and two in front of him.

He took the letters, and watched as the owls left.

“Are they your interview results?” Oliver asked, leaning over to peer at the postage. “What’d they say? I bet you got at least one, that’s a pretty thick envelope there.”

Percy felt his heart leap into his throat. “They’re from the Transportation Department… and International Cooperation,” he said, feeling excitement rise. The envelope from the Department of Magical International Cooperation was at least two fingers thick, much too large for a rejection letter.

He opened the other first. “Well,” he said, “if nothing else, I have a spot at the Floo registration office, filing permits.” He put it down and hovered over the other.

“Why do that when you can be doing cool international policy things instead?” Oliver waved his hand dismissively. “Come on, Perce, don’t leave us in suspense!”

“Yeah, Perce,” chimed in Penny, plopping down next to Audrey. “Which office are you launching your brand-new hot-shot political career in?” She turned to Audrey. “Audrey, Auds, babe, today is our last day to hex Flanagan a new one, and I want to make it count. Are you in?” Audrey hmmed her agreement and pecked her on the lips, and they both turned back to Percy expectantly.

Percy laughed, and picked up the envelope. He felt brimming with giddiness, a grin beginning to stretch all the way to his ears, it felt like. “It’s from the—“

“The Department of Magical International Cooperation!” Brighton’s voice interrupted. “I got the job! Father said I shouldn’t worry, but I’d flubbed the interview, so I wasn’t sure, but I got it!” Down the table, he was waving around a letter with official Ministry letterhead, rather similar to the one Percy had received from the Floo office.

The four couldn’t hear Landon’s reply, but saw Brighton’s face flush bright red and pleased when he leaned in.

Percy looked back down at his envelope, his previous excitement dropping like a leaden weight in his gut.

“They wouldn’t have sent a giant envelope if it was a rejection,” Penny said, uncertain. “Did you apply for another position in the department?”

“No,” Percy replied after a moment. “Just that one. The others were all different departments, and I’m not due for a reply from the Wizengamot Administration office ‘til next week.” He pushed the envelope away from him. “Maybe I should—“

Oliver seized the envelope and pushed it back into his hands. “Open it,” he said. “It might be a rejection, or a brand new opportunity, but you’ll never know unless you _check_. And Penny’s right. With that size, there’s no way it’s going to be a rejection.”

Percy sighed, but smiled faintly and used a table knife to carefully slit open the envelope. He slid out a thick wad of papers, and a neatly folded letter on top.

Penny blinked. “That is a lot of paper.” Audrey hummed in agreement.

Percy unfolded the top sheet, which turned out to be two folded together. He read the first. “Mr. Weasley: After much deliberation, blah blah blah, uh, we must regretfully inform you that you have not been selected… well, that’s that, I guess.” He frowned. “Wonder what the rest is, then.”

The second sheet was a surprise, to say the least.

“I… I got a job offer?” He looked up at the others. “From Barty Crouch.” He blinked down at the letter in all its officiality, and read it again. “I got a job offer from the department head, as his _personal assistant_. I… what?”

“Wow!” Oliver said, Penny and Audrey smiling just as enthusiastically. “That’s even better than what you were originally hoping for, isn’t it! Personal assistant to the department head! I didn’t know Crouch was even looking for an assistant!”

“I didn’t either,” Percy said weakly.

“Uh, he must really like cauldrons,” Penny interrupted. She’d starting flipping through the thick stack of papers that had arrived with the rejection/offer. “Because this entire chunk of paperwork is cauldron regulation paperwork and patent court case transcripts. There’s a note on top that says you’re expected to familiarize yourself with it before you start next week? There’s a lot here, Percy. He must be really invested in this thing.”

Percy covered his face. “I hate cauldrons,” he moaned, and stuck out a hand. “Give it here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I only just noticed that for some reason, whenever they’re eating, like nine times out of ten it’s breakfast potatoes. Uh, oops? I like breakfast potatoes?
> 
> Also, job interviews are stressful. Writing about job interviews, and thus reliving them in all their horrific technicolor glory, is also stressful. Let’s not do that again.
> 
> Up next: CAULDRONS! (and the Quidditch World Cup)

**Author's Note:**

> As always, kudos, comments, and constructive criticism are more than welcome!


End file.
